


Hush

by thehipsterkiwi



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Horcruxes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2020-01-24 02:49:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 102
Words: 337,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18562408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thehipsterkiwi/pseuds/thehipsterkiwi
Summary: Emile was normal, a normal witch in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. When personal history is revealed and Bartemius Crouch Junior becomes part of her life, Emile finds herself in one sticky situation after another. If only a prophecy weren't predicting that only death can bring everything to an end.Authors Note: Not to bash on my own work, but for a really good read skip ahead to chapter 27: Whatevers Left of Normal, and start from there ;>





	1. Introductions

* * *

Emile couldn’t believe what was happening. After two years of begging, nagging, and endless fighting, she was finally leaving home. She was finally going to a proper school, the finest wizarding school in the world as a matter of fact, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  
She looked to her left at her father, Peter Gorski. A tall, buff man who spent his time gambling away his money and drinking the house dry. Though I suppose if your wife left you with a newborn child and ran off with another man, you would be a mess too. Emile let out a sigh. Her dark haired guardian could turn his life around if he wanted too, he had attended the finest Muggle University in Britain and had graduated top of his class. Now he lived in his ex-wife's brothers basement, not that Emile minded too much. The Diggory family had been kind to her the past four years they had occupied their living space, her cousin Cedric had been the one to convince her father that homeschooling both muggle and magic subjects didn’t seem to be working out.  
She smiled nervously at her cousin who was sitting in the backseat. He returned the smile, but he didn’t look as nervous as she did. Not that he needed to be, it was his third year there and being the charming looker he was he had a solid group of pals he could rely on.  
“Well, here we are children, Kings Cross.” Peter announced as he pulled up by the station entrance. He smiled sadly at his daughter as she leaned across the car and pecked him on the cheek.  
“Goodbye father,” she whispered and exited the car. He smiled as she closed the door. She looked around to see that Cedric had already taken their trunks out and was waiting for her by the entrance to the station.  
“Ready to go in, youngling?” he teased as she loaded her trunk onto a trolley.  
“Youngling?!” Emile scoffed. “We’re the same age you git.” Cedric laughed and punched her lightly in the shoulder. She glanced at the clock on their way down to the platform and was concerned to see they were half an hour early. She gave Cedric a quizzical look.  
“Ah now look here my inexperienced pupil, when you arrive early you are more likely to get a good compartment,” he smiled and broke into a run, disappearing into a column on their right.  
Emile grinned, she had heard all about the entrance to platform 9 ¾. She ran towards the column, bracing herself for the inevitable crash, only to find herself on another platform entirely.  
She looked up at the beautiful steam engine in front of her, a white haze surrounded it and fogging up her glasses. She walked over to Cedric, who was waiting for her by one of the cars.  
“Listen some of my friends are already on and they’ve got a compartment reserved for us, so i’ll see you later alright?” Cedric didn’t wait for a response, he simply smiled and ran off further down the train.  
Emile stood in silence as she watched her cousin board the train with a pretty dark-haired girl. It had been foolish to hope he would invite her over with them, but she had allowed small part of herself to hope.  
With a shrug Emile pulled her trunk onto the train and hauled it into an empty compartment. She slid the door shut and took out her favorite pillow and blanket from her carry on bag, a small mokeskin pouch her grandfather had given her before passing away. An undetectable extension charm had been placed on it so she used the pouch quite often when going on trips. With a sigh she lay down across the bench and closed her eyes, prepared to finally have a dreamless sleep.  
When Emile awoke the sky outside was dark. She sat up groggily, arching her back into a stretch before she realized someone was coming into the compartment.  
“Pardon me, i’m looking for a toad,” a bushy haired girl said as she glanced around the nearly empty compartment.  
“A toad?” Emile asked groggily, still unsure of what was going on.  
“Yes, a boy named Neville’s lost one,” the young girl explained while kneeling down to check under the seats.  
“Neville?” Emile sat up, alert at once. “Neville Longbottom?”  
“Yes I think so,” came a muffled response from beneath the bench. “Do you know him?” she asked, standing back up.  
“I’ve heard of him…” Emile stared absentmindedly out the window.  
“Well, i’d better keep searching,” said the girl after a moment. “And i’d suggest you change into your robes, I expect we’ll be arriving soon.” she walked out of the compartment, looking back before closing the door. “Pleasure to meet you , um?”  
It took Emile a moment to realize that she was talking to her.  
“Oh! Emile, Emile Gorska.”  
“Nice to meet you Emile. And I’m Hermione Granger.” With that, Hermione closed the compartment door and continued on to down the train.  
Emile wrapped the blanket around her tightly and let out a shudder. She didn’t want to see Neville again. She couldn’t face him after what had happened to her, well their mother. With a sigh she got up and drew the curtains to the compartment to change into her robes.  
As she took off her usual clothes she heard laughter out in the hall. It was coming closer and closer.  
“Come on, Fred, I think this one’s empty!” she heard a laugh outside and saw the knob on her compartment door turn.  
Emile let out a scream and grabbed her blanket from the chair, quickly wrapping it around her nude body. “Don’t come in you bastards!” she shouted, cursing in her head. How could she have forgotten to lock the door? She was so stupid, stupid stu-  
“Bloody hell!” came a cry from the hall and the compartment door was quickly shut.  
“Well now you’ve done it George, just couldn’t keep your hands to yourself now could you?” a muffled snicker came from outside.  
“Just drop it, Fred,” came a mumbled response from the one called George.  
Emile took a deep breath and leaned against the compartment wall. “I’m really sorry about that,” She said through the door. “I forgot to lock the door.”  
“No, no, we should have knocked first,” came the response.  
“We? Don’t drag me into this.”  
“Shut it, Fred.”  
Emile smiled inside the compartment as she struggled to hold the blanket up with one hand and lock the door with the other.  
“You boys can go now, I’m not inviting you back in.” she called in what she hoped came off as a teasing voice. Apparently it worked because they laughed and soon the hall was quiet again.  
Goosebumps were forming on her skin as she dressed in her school robes. They hadn’t even arrived at school yet and she was already messing things up. She hoped that she didn’t end up in the same house as those two, that would be horrid. They were probably sitting with a group of friends telling them all about the naked new girl.  
Emile stood up with a sigh as the train pulled up to the Hogsmeade station. Looking out the window she could see the many shops in the town; she had gotten her permission slip signed and simply couldn’t wait to visit.  
As she exited the train she heard someone calling her name. Cedric was waving her over to one of the carriages, he was with the same black haired girl as earlier and a curly haired blonde.  
“Emile! Over here!” the black haired girl called excitedly. Cedric was smiling at her in a goofy way and Emile couldn’t help but smile too.  
As she climbed into the horse drawn carriage she looked over at Cedric expectantly.  
“Oh, yes.” He grinned nervously at her. “Emile, this is Cho Chang,” he said, indicating to the black haired girl who proceeded to aggressively shake hands with Emile, “And Marietta Edgecomb.” The curly haired blonde smiled and nodded at Emile, who shyly smiled back.  
“We were looking all over the train for you earlier!” Cho said excitedly. “After Cedric told us how he’d left you, I was furious because he talks about his cousin all the time and I really wanted to meet you, but no he left you behind to go talk up Quidditch with the boys and that was not ok so Marietta and I went looking for you but you were sleeping in your compartment and we didn’t want to disturb you…” Cho rambled on while Emile nodded and pretended to listen to her; she personally didn’t care for girl talk but Cho certainly did and she definitely kept them all entertained with her impressions of Cedric on their way up to the castle.  
As they exited the carriage and made up to the castle Emile realized that she would need to take part in the sorting along with incoming first years, and she had no idea what she was supposed to do or where she was supposed to go. She turned to ask Cedric what he thought she was supposed to do she heard a cough behind her.  
“Miss Gorska if you’d be so kind as to follow me I am to take you to the headmaster's office where you will have a private sorting ceremony before we go the great hall.” A tall dark haired man in black robes came out of the shadows and beckoned her to follow him.  
“Yes, sir.” Emile hurried after the tall figure, turning to wave goodbye to Cedric.  
They speed walked through the winding halls of the castle and stopped before a tall statue of a gargoyle.  
The strange man looked the statue it the eyes. “Sherbert Lemon.” The gargoyle leapt aside, revealing a staircase that lead up. Emile's eyes widened and she swore she saw the dark man give a small smile at her surprise. They took the stairs two at a time and entered a large portrait and book filled room. An older man with a long beard looked up as they entered, Emile gasping for breath. She just did more exercise in the past five minutes than all of the previous week combined.  
“Ah, Severus,” the older man smiled down at them. “I see you have found our new student.”  
The dark haired man, Severus, nodded, picked up a book off the floor, and began to read. Emile looked at the bearded man, this had to be Dumbledore.  
“Well Emile, let’s get started shall we?” Dumbledore said cheerfully. He pulled a dusty old hat off his shelf and walked over to where she was standing by the door.  
“This is the sorting hat,” he explained. “It will decide which of the four hogwarts houses best suits you.”  
Emile took the hat from Dumbledore and placed it on her head.  
_Emile Victoria Gorska_  
Holy fuck  
_There’s no need for that kind of language, maybe we ought to put you in Slytherin for your foul mouth._  
No, please, I really don't think that's necessary.  
_You certainly have an acceptable mind but I don't think you ought to be put in Ravenclaw, they don't take a foul mouth lightly there. Based on your heritage I don't think you would find Slytherin all that delightful, so where to put you?_  
My mother was in Gryffindor, but I'm scared of running into-  
_Your half brother, I see Miss Gorska but I think that's what you need most to help you come to terms with the events of the past, and the future. Though Hufflepuff does seem to be the perfect fit, you need a challenge of some kind. Maybe things would turn out for the better this way..._  
Emile sat still, terrified of what was to come. She saw Dumbledore glance at the clock and whisper something to Severus, who nodded and left the room, taking the book he had been reading with him.  
_Good luck, Emile Victoria Gorska_  
“Better be,” the hat spoke aloud, slightly startling Dumbledore (who quickly regained his composure). “Gryffindor!” the hat shouted, Dumbledore broke into applause as Emile snatched the hat off of her head. This was not ok. This was not at all what she wanted. She had chosen Hufflepuff. She wanted to be with Cedric, someone she actually knew and could really talk to.  
“Wonderful, wonderful!” Dumbledore walked over and took the sorting hat from her. “Now Miss Gorska if you will follow me we will head down to the great hall for the start of term feast.”  
Emile followed Dumbledore down the winding staircase and through the halls of the castle. She was planning out the letter she would be sending to her father tomorrow morning, hopefully if he was sober he would respond quickly. She had already worked out a system with Uncle Amos, they would hold onto any letters she sent her father if he was in an intoxicated state and present them to him when he was acting more manageable.  
Dumbledore lead a lost in thought Emile over to the Gryffindor table to sit with the other third years.  
“Have a pleasant year Miss Emile,” he smiled and walked over to the staff table to take his seat. Emile watched him go, too distracted to pay much attention. She absentmindedly started chewing on a strand of her hair as she looked around at her other Gryffindors. There was a taller girl with mousy brown hair, a cheerful dark skinned girl who appeared to be miming something to do with Quidditch to the girl next to her, who was listening intently. Across from them sat a Dark skinned boy who had a box that Emile had heard contained a spider of some sort. An older boy with curly red hair was interrogating him about the contents of said box, while two red headed twins laughed off to the side. Emile nearly choked on her hair. Of course she ended up in the same house as the two who had seen her in nothing but her undergarments and a blanket. She made a mental note to avoid those two at all costs.  
Just then the doors to the great hall opened and a group of terrified first years came in. Emile watched in silence as they walked up to the front of the room and proceeded with the sorting. Most of the first kids became Hufflepuffs, oddly enough, though a few did become Ravenclaws. Emile clapped along with the other Gryffindors as Lavender Brown became their first new member. Well, first young new member.  
Not long after the bushy haired girl, Hermione, joined Lavender at the Gryffindor table. After her went Neville, he was so big now. Though Emile knew the result was inevitable she had still clung onto a bit of hope that he would be sorted into Hufflepuff, but as he joined the new Gryffindor ladies at the table she knew it was a useless wish.  
Not many people were left at this point in the sorting, a Draco Malfoy was sent to Slytherin. Emile had laughed aloud as the hat screeched “Slytherin!” before it had even touched the boy’s head. Though she tried not to bring attention to herself, she was sure the two redhead twins had whispered while looking at her. She nervously tucked her hair behind her ear, feeling very self conscious and pretended to pay attention to the sorting.  
The famous Harry Potter was sorted into Gryffindor, as was another redhead boy. Emile had a feeling that all these Gryffindor redheads were related, but she didn’t say anything in case she was wrong.  
As Dumbledore stood up to give a short speech Emile looked over at the Hufflepuff table. She could see Cedric sitting with his group of friends, she’d seen pictures of them before but it was surprising to see how much taller they were in person.  
Cedric glanced over at her and smiled. Emile waved back, suddenly feeling very lonely over at the Gryffindor table. That was just what happened when you come into school after everyone’s already established friend groups.  
“Hey you, could you pass the lamb chops?” the dark skinned boy called to Emile down the table. She smiled and tried to avoid his gaze as she handed the platter over.  
“Thanks doll.” he winked at her before turning back to the redhead twins.  
Emile piled her plate with food and began eating, feeling hungrier than ever since she hadn’t eaten since that morning, before they even left for hogwarts. It was so weird to think that that same day she had been at home, walking the Diggory’s dog and checking to make sure she had packed everything she needed for the school year.  
“Excuse me but is this seat taken?” a voice said behind her. Emile turned to find herself face to face with the Gryffindor ghost, whose name she had forgotten. Emile hadn’t bothered to learn anything about the other houses since she had been so certain she would end up in Hufflepuff.  
“Not at all,” she smiled at the ghost. “I’m Emile, Emile Gorska.”  
“Sir Nicholas of Gryffindor tower,” they ghost smiled down at her. “I don’t believe i’ve seen you here before.”  
“No I just arrived today. I’m a third year, I was homeschooled for two years,” Emilie explained.  
“Aha I see,” the ghost smiled for a moment before a loud noise across the hall distracted him. “If you’ll excuse me a moment Miss Emile, I must go fetch the Bloody Baron, I am afraid Peeves the Poltergeist is already having a bit too much fun with our newest arrivals.” And with that the ghost floated away through the wall of the great hall.  
“Emile huh?” came a voice to the right of Emile. She jumped and saw the Quidditch girl sitting next to her. “I’m Angelina Johnson.”  
“Nice to meet you Angelina. You’re a third year too, right?”  
“Thats right,” Angelina smiled at Emile. “You’ll be rooming with me, Alicia, and Katie.”  
“Sounds wonderful.” Emile smiled back at Angelina. “Who else is a third year? In Gryffindor house I mean?”  
“Oh well it’s the three of us, Katie's a second year, and then Fred, George, and Lee over there.” Angelina pointed to each of the boys as she named them, though none of them were paying much attention. Lee was showing off the spider in the box to the twins under the table. “I wouldn’t befriend them though if I were you, the twins have a habit of messing with people.”  
Emile smiled. “Don’t worry, i’m sure it’ll all turn out fine.”  
Just then the food from the table vanished and was replaced with the dessert selection. Emilie had inherited her father’s sweet tooth and instantly got to work piling up the various delicacies in front of her, wrapping several in her napkin and sticking it into her mokeskin pouch for later.  
Once the feast was finished and speeches made, Emile followed Angelina and Alicia up to the Gryffindor tower. Emile was so tired she didn’t even notice where they were going. It seemed to take forever to get the the painting of the fat lady that concealed the dorms.  
“Password?” the portrait asked.  
“Oh Percy told it to me it was um, oh! Caput Draconis!” Alicia announced triumphantly. The portrait swung open, and the three girls stepped into the Gryffindor common room. It was a round room with many squashy armchairs and a merry fire going in the fireplace.  
Emile yawned and followed a group of girls up to the girls dormitories. Once she entered she drew the curtains of her four poster bed shut and changed into her pajamas before falling into a deep sleep.


	2. Making Friends

It didn’t take long for Emile to fall into a regular routine of getting up early, eating breakfast before the great hall got too crowded, and going through her day without drawing attention to herself. So far she found she enjoyed Care of Magical Creatures and Potions the most, though she kept this to herself since it seemed to be a commonly unpopular opinion in Gryffindor house. In fact the only house in the entire school that seemed to enjoy potions was Slytherin house. And that was mostly because Professor Severus Snape let them get away with all sorts of jargon. 

Though she saw Cedric during Herbology and Divination, he was often busy with his Hufflepuff friends and didn’t spend much of his time talking with her. He would occasionally say hi in the hallways and he once asked how she was doing while Professor Trelawney had her back turned, but she hadn’t gotten a chance to respond. He was quickly distracted by Trelawney predicting his inevitable early death. 

Today proved to be no different from all the others, that was until she got a letter in the morning mail. Emile hadn’t gotten a reply from her father yet, so she figured this letter was either a response from him or an explanation from the Diggory’s. 

It proved to be neither.

Emile did not recognize the sender of the letter, nor the owl who delivered it. She took the letter and slipped it in the pocket of her robes to open later in a secluded corner of the library that she had discovered a week into the school year. She considered it a safe haven, and often went there to nap in between classes or during dinner when she didn’t feel like eating. 

As more people began filing into the great hall for breakfast Emile got up and grabbed her bookbag, heading towards the door with her head down. As she exited the hall, she had the misfortune of running headfirst into Oliver Wood.

Emile gasped as she fell backwards onto the floor, her books and journals spilling out of her bookbag. Her sketchbook was opened up to a drawing she had done of Harry Potter’s owl, Hedwig, up in the owlery just yesterday. 

“I'm so sorry!” said Oliver, leaning down to gather some of her books.

“No, no it’s my fault I wasn’t watching where I was going.” Emile found herself staring at Oliver as she reached for her sketchbook, he wore a very anxious expression on his face.

“I guess I wasn’t either,” Oliver smiled briefly before helping Emile up and handing her her books. “A lot going on, you know?”

“Yeah I understand,” Emile let out a small laugh. “Hard to believe term started three weeks ago isn’t it?”

Oliver smiled and began to say something but before he could respond the redhead twins, Fred and George, came up to him and began discussing something to do with Quidditch. Emile backed away from the boys before turning around and heading up to the library. She thought she saw Oliver watching her go, but she quickly ceased the wishful thinking.

_ Pull yourself together Emile. He’s two years above you.  _

She began walking to the library when Emile realized something. The dormitory would be completely empty. All her dorm mates would be down at breakfast before they went to arithmancy, while she had a free period. She was so stupid, it’s been three weeks why hadn’t she figured this out before? Emile paused by the fat lady, mauling it over. 

“Password?” the fat lady yawned as she spoke, stretching like a cat.

“Oh, Pig Snout.” Emile shrugged to herself. might as well go here instead. It would certainly save her another two minutes of walking. 

The portrait door swung open to reveal a rushed group of first years heading towards the exit. As they passed Emile she heard one of them say something about Harry Potter being the new Quidditch Seeker, which certainly explained why Wood looked so nervous. A game was coming up and Harry had never even heard of Quidditch prior to his Hogwarts education. He had a lot to learn. 

As Emile climbed the stairs to the dormitories she took the letter out of her robe. She began to carefully tear it open. She opened the door to her dorm and walked over to her bed, pulling the curtains shut around her. As soon as she took out the letter she recognized the neat handwriting of Mr. Diggory.

_ Dear Cedric and Emile, _

_ I know that we have been communicating individually with both of you but i am afraid that doesn’t seem possible at the current moment. Our family owl, Cormac, has passed away. The Owl Emporium at Diagon Alley has had an outbreak of feather lice. Until then any owls we send will be through the post office owls.  _

_ On another note, we will be attending Christmas dinner at the Minister of Magic’s house, and though it is not required of you to come we have decided to leave it up to you whether you would like to attend or not.  _

_ We hope you both are doing well. _

_ Warm regards, _

_ Amos Diggory _

_ P.S. Emile, we have your letter. Don’t worry too much, it’s been worse. _

She put the paper down and gave a small smile. The Minister’s Christmas dinner was an annual pain. Emile never knew which utensils to use. Cedric seemed to enjoy it though, he would most likely return home for the holidays. 

With a sigh she tucked the letter back into her pocket. If Cedric wasn’t too busy playing the role of Mr. Popular then she would give him the letter during Divination. Which was in an hour. 

With a groan she realized she still hadn’t filled out her dream journal. It’s not that it was hard, she just didn’t want to be honest. Dreams where personal business, you shouldn’t have to be graded on whether or not you dream at night. And you shouldn’t be required to share them.

As Emile improvised a rather unimaginative dream scenario in her journal, she heard a loud wail from outside the dorms. It was quite startling, she was very ashamed to admit she had fallen out of her bed, scraping her knee in the process.

“What the bloody hell is going on out there?” she yelled as she hobbled over to the door. Much to Emile’s surprise, she managed to make the scrape her knee even larger as she slipped once again outside the door. The stairs leading up to the dorms had vanished, leaving a smooth slide. 

Emile rolled sideways down the stairs, her feet getting caught on several uneven bricks in the walls. As she rolled to a stop she felt someone pick her up and carry her over to one of the common room couches.

“I’m real sorry about this, doll,” came the deep voice of Lee Jordan. Emile let out a groan, which he must have taken as a groan of pain because a moment later Lee grabbed the Weasley twins to stay with her while Lee went for Madame Pomfrey.

Emile stared at the ceiling, she was certain her face was beat red. 

“What happened?” she asked one of the redheads, unsure who was Fred and who was George.

“Oh Emile well you see,” red one began.

“Lee’s spider got loose,” red two said

“and he chased it to the girls dormitories.” Red one concluded.

After a moment of silently staring at them Emile asked, “But what happened to the stairs?”

“Oh that always happens when a person of the male gender tries to visit with the girls.” Red two rolled his eyes at Emile and she couldn’t help but smile. 

“Real medieval if you ask me.” Red one put his feet up on the couch Emile was on, bumping her leg by accident. Emile let out a small whimper as a streak of pain shot up her leg.

“Really banged yourself up, didn’t you Em?” Red one laughed as he put his feet down again.

“Seriously red, I hardly find this humerous.” Both redheads laughed as she said this.

“If he’s red, then who am I?” asked red two.

“Red the second,” Emile snapped and turned her head to face the ceiling as the pair began laughing like the hyenas from the lion king. Their laughter subsided as Madame Pomfrey rushed into the room with Lee.

“For goodness sake boys you couldn’t get any more insensitive,” Madame Pomfrey glared at the redheads before conjuring up a stretcher for Emile. “Here we go dear, let's get you to the hospital wing so that i can get a proper look at you.”

Emile turned to Lee as she left. “If you need someone to get your spider, ask Hermione Granger. She’s one of the less squeamish girls here, even if she’s a first year.” Lee smiled sheepishly as Emile floated out of the common room, and off to the hospital wing. She felt that maybe she had made an acquaintance in her house, someone that she could at least talk to. 


	3. After the Fall

Emile woke in the hospital several hours later. She tried moving her legs and was happy to feel them working properly. Madame Pomfrey and diagnosed her with a broken leg and minor concussion, and had given her a potion to take that would heal her as she slept. Emile stood up, did a few stretches and jumped off a nearby chair, just to make certain everything was fine.

“I see you’re feeling better,” Emile turned as Madame Pomfrey’s voice sounded behind her.

“Yes, very much,” Emile smiled. “Thank you for healing me.”

“Oh it was no problem dear,” she responded breezily, sweeping Emile out of the hospital wing. “Let me know if you feel any pain.” And with that, she closed the door.

Emile strolled down the hall towards the Gryffindor commons. As she neared the moving staircases someone stepped out of the shadows, stopping her.

“Miss Gorska might I inquire as to why you were not present for my class today?” Professor Snape towered over Emile.

“I was in the hospital wing sir, broken leg.”

Snape sniffed disapprovingly. “Then Miss Gorska it might interest you to know that you missed out on a pop quiz.”

Emile stared up at Professor Snape, dumbstruck. It was too early into the year to be giving quizzes, she hardly remembered how to make any of the potions they had studied in class.

“Sir, is there any chance I could come take the exam during dinner break today?” 

Professor Snape gave Emile a suspicious glance. She reconed he was probably suspicious a student would give up eating to take a test, but in all honesty Emile wasn’t very hungry. 

“If you wish to make to your absence,” Snape began somewhat hesitantly. “You may come by my classroom at precisely six o'clock pm.” Emile gave a small smile, that gave her at least an hour and a half to study. 

“I’ll see you then, Professor.” Emile gave an awkward curtsy before running off down the hall. As she ran up the moving staircases she saw Angelina leaving the dormitories. She turned around with a smile as Emile called her name. 

“Emile!” she said happily. “Are you planning on joining us for dinner? We heard about what happened, don’t worry, Katie got the spider back to Lee.”

“Oh, I actually have to go take the Potions quiz.” Emile responded once she caught her breath. “I was wondering if you could tell me what it was on?”

“Oh,” Angelina’s face fell slightly. “We simply had to make a shrinking solution and test it out on a rat Snape provided for us.” 

“Alright thank you.” Emile turned to go fetch her schoolbag from her room. But as she turned Angelina spoke again.

“You should come down and eat with us more often.”

Emile turned to her and smiled. “I should.” The corners of Angelina’s mouth twitched slightly as Emile turned away from her and ran to her dorm. She hastily dumped the contents of her bookbag onto her bed and packed only what she needed for the quiz before hurrying back out of the dorms and up to the library.

Once she entered the library Emile went straight to the potions section, scanning the shelves for an adequate studying guide. She reached for a worn looking copy of Advanced Potion Making. She knew it was typically used for NEWT level classes but Emile found these textbooks yielded better results than the standard third year books. As she flipped through the book searching for Shrinking Solutions, she found that the poor textbook had been treated terribly, writing was all over the pages and she was sure there was a blood stain on one of the pages. 

When Emile finally found the Shrinking Solution recipe, it had been completely written out and a different, unfamiliar version of the recipe was scribbled over it. Emile shrugged to herself.  _ If no one’s crossed it out or removed it from the textbook then it must work.  _

She closed the book and crept over to the far right corner of the library, where she slipped behind a bookshelf into a narrow chamber. Emile had placed several blankets, pillows, and lanterns in the tiny enclosure to make it more comfortable, the lanterns filled the space with a warm glow. They reminded her of muggle christmas decorations that were everywhere during the holiday season.

With a plop, Emile sat down onto the pillows, pulled out a spare roll of parchment and her green quill, and proceeded to copy down the recipe.

It felt like barely five minutes had passed before Emile heard the librarian, Madam Pince, announcing that dinner would begin in three minutes. That gave Emile only three minutes to get to Snape's dungeon. She hurriedly packed her notes into her bag and exited her small haven, grabbing the book as she went. Emile hastily put it back on the shelf, making a mental note to come check it out for the year if the results she go were good. 

Emile ran through the castle to the dungeons, arriving at exactly 6 o’clock pm. She Entered the classroom and walked over to her usual seat in the far back.

“Miss Gorska there will be no need to sit so far away since you are the only student present this evening,” came the quiet voice of Professor Snape. “People might think you’re… up to something.” 

Emile smiled, he thought she was going to cheat. “Professor I had hoped you would trust me enough by now.”

“I can’t imagine why you would think I could trust a Gryffindor.” Snape sniffed before returning to grading papers at his desk. 

Emile moved her items to the front of the room and poured in the required amount of water into her cauldron. Once the water began to simmer she looked at Professor Snape.

He nodded curtly. “You may begin.”

Emile ran over to the cupboards and pulled out caterpillars, peeled shrivelfig, rat spleen, daisy roots, and leech juice. She carefully sliced five caterpillars and dropped them into the cauldron. As she increased the temperature of the fire she began shaking the peeled shrivel figs. By the time the potion had turned red the shriveled figs were ready to be added. Emile slowly added the peeled shrivel figs till the potion turned yellow. She sat back for a moment as she waited for the potion to turn purple. As she waited she was aware of Professor Snape watching her as he graded her progress. He was frowning more than usual, which couldn’t have been a good sign.

Before Emile could consider a reason why, the classroom door opened. Emile’s head whipped around and she let out a groan. The Weasley twins were standing by the door, hands full of sweets. As they noticed her across the room, red one nudged red two, who smirked in her direction. Emile rolled her eyes and looked back at her potion, which was now a muted yellow. 

“Evening Professor,” Red one winked at Snape and sat down at one of the empty desks.

“Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley you are late.” Snape stared menacingly from the front of the room. 

“Sorry, we would have come on time,” Red one began.

“But we didn’t want to come.” Red two smiled sweetly at Emile as he said this, which caused her to panic slightly.

_ Was it her fault? Did they not like her? Did they think she was annoying? Oh lord please stop Emile it's ok you’re ok you’re fine. _

Snape was frowning at the three of them, Emile was shaking slightly in her seat.

“Mr. Fred Weasley if you wouldn’t mind taking the muggle tools from the back room you will be cleaning the supply closet.” Red one, Fred, bowed deeply before running off into the closet, where he did not emerge from.

“And Mr. George Weasley,” Red two turned to face Snape as his name was called. “You will be sitting in the corner and contemplating every possible meaning of the phrase, ‘silent as the grave.’ Do I make myself clear?” 

“Crystal, Professor.” George looked once at Emile before going off into the corner. 

Emile felt her cheeks getting hot as she glanced at her potion, which was just beginning to turn a faint violet. She began mincing her daisy roots, years of cooking at home had prepared her for this moment. Once she had minced a few of the roots she glanced at her potion, which had turned a nice purple. Painfully aware of more than one pair of eyes watching her, Emile dropped four of the rat spleens into the cauldron and added the daisy roots bit by bit till the potion turned green. She then dropped in five drops of leech juice and a bit more of the shrivelfig till the potion turned pink. One more sliced caterpillar and the potion was almost ready. 

Professor Snape stood up and walked to the back of the room, returning up to the front with a rat. 

“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Gorska.”

Emile hastily took some of her potion, now bright green, and sucked it up into a spare dropper. She walked over to Professor Snape, who coaxed the potion into the rat. It twitched for a moment before rapidly decreasing in size. A newborn baby rat now sat curled up where the full grown adult had been. It was no more than a day old, its eyes weren’t even open. 

Emile let out a small sigh of relief. The potion had worked, she passed. Tomorrow she would check out that old textbook from the library.

“Very well done Miss Gorska, may I ask you something?”

“Of course Professor.” Emile’s anxiety returned with those words. It was never that easy. 

“How is it that every student i quized today managed to fail in making this potion, yet you passed?” Professor Snape stared at her coldly.

“Well, I guess it’s because I had an hour to study beforehand, I was aware of the quiz while the others were not.” It made sense to Emile. 

“A Gryffindor studied?” Snape sneered at the redheads in the back who were attempting to complete the assigned tasks. “I think that you just made Gryffindor history, Miss Gorska.” Emile opened her mouth to respond but was held up by Snape, who held up his hand to silence her. “However it is not so much you’re studying technique that intrigues me as much as your source, Miss Gorska. You just completed a very advanced potion with hardly more than an hour to study. What, may I ask, was your source?”

Emile swallowed nervously. “I um, I read an Advanced potion making book in the library.” Snape’s brows furrowed slightly at these words yet his gaze remained cold. He reached for a quill and pulled out a scrap of parchment. 

“Please give this to Madame Pince,” he said through gritted teeth. “And bring me that book.”

Emile took the note and left the room. She could feel her anxiety setting in as she wandered through the halls. What was going on?

As she entered the library for the second time in a day, Madam Pince appeared out of nowhere and began rambling about the time and how she should be off to bed soon because the library would be closing for the evening. Emile simply handed her Snape’s note and walked over to where she had left the book earlier. It was sitting on the same shelf she had left it on, no surprise there. Most people didn’t go for the old, broken books. 

With a sigh she took the book and trudged back to the dungeons, receiving a glare from Madam Pince as she exited the library. As she returned to Snape’s room he snatched the book out of her hands, flipping through it urgently. He turned his back to Emile, she couldn’t see what was going on anymore so she sat down on a stool by his desk.

“Miss Gorska, you took quite a risk taking instructions from a foreign book, as useful as they may have been.” Professor Snape threw the book onto his desk as he turned to face her. “I don’t want to hear your excuses. Ten points from Gryffindor.” 

A gasp sounded from the back of the room. “You can’t do that!” 

“Mr. George, must I remind you that you are in this detention for disrupting class and I will not hesitate to assign you a week’s worth.” Snape did not take his eyes off Emile as he lectured the redhead. 

“However, I can see you were planning to get this book yourself after tonight. So I will permit you to keep this book for the remainder of the year.”

Emile stared at Snape, shocked. One could almost call this gesture an act of kindness, and to a Gryffindor.

“May I ask why, Professor?” she said hesitantly.

Professor Snape sniffed. “I can see you enjoy this class to a certain extent, though I hope the point deduction has taught you to clarify content with teachers prior to examinations.”

“It was, thank you Professor Snape.” Emile smiled slightly at the Professor as she grabbed the book and returned to her station to clean up. Once she had finished and the book was safely in her bookbag she did Professor Snape goodnight and exited the classroom. As She left she heard Snape calling an end to the redheads detention, and Emilie sped up her pace so that she wouldn’t have to walk back to the common room with them.

Just her luck, as she turned the corner two mops of red hair popped out of the shadows. 

“Hiya Em.” George smiled at her. 

“Where did you-”

“Filches cat!” whispered Fred, pointing behind Emile as he rudely interrupted her. Sure enough, Mrs. Filch was prowling down the hallway towards them, her eyes glowing in the faint torchlight.

“Quick this way!” Fred whispered as he disappeared into the shadows with George. Emile stood dumbstruck till a hand came out of the darkness and pulled her along. As they ran through the darkness Emile clung onto the arm of whomever had pulled her in, she couldn’t see anything. She ran into the two of them as they stopped suddenly in the darkness.

“Now just because we saw you in a blanket doesn’t mean we want to go there with you Em,” Fred teased from her left.

“Would you mind telling me where we are and what we’re doing?” she snapped, losing patience with these boys. She was tired and hungry, all she wanted was to go to her room and sleep. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

“You get so feisty on your own Em it’s hilarious.” George laughed as he said the words. Though she knew he couldn’t see her, she blew a raspberry  in the general direction of his voice.

“Well Em we figured you’d be a bit hungry after today,” Fred spoke from in front.

“So we decided to let you in on our Hogwarts secret.” George’s voice sounded by her ear and she felt someone push her forward.

“Voila!” Fred spoke dramatically ask they stepped out into the light once more. In front of Emile was a large portrait of a fruit bowl. She stared at the twins, waiting for them to tell her this was a joke and that they could go to sleep soon. 

“Fred, I don’t think she understands.” George looked at his brother with mock disappointment.

“No, I do believe she doesn’t, George.” Fred shook his head disapprovingly. “But I suppose old Finch might come out at any minute so we should get this show on the road.”

They went on either side of Emile and lifted her hand. “All you have to do is tickle the pear,” they said in unison, smiling at Emile. She nervously rubbed the pear on the painting, and jumped back in surprise as it swung open to reveal a passageway. The twins laughed at her astonishment and walked through, leaving Emile to follow behind. Her jaw dropped as she found herself in the immense hogwarts kitchen that was teaming with house elves. 

“Oh, Masters George and Fred have arrived!” squeaked one of them. Suddenly, a whole wave of house elves ran towards the group. Once the hubbub had died down a notch Fred spoke to the elves.

“Good elves of this castle,” he bagan. “We brought a friend with us today. Please say hello to Mistress Emile.”

Emile blushed at these words. “Gosh Fred, don’t call me Mistress. That sounds so promiscuous.” She turned to the house elves, “Please, just call me Emile.”

Another round of squeaking started up again, hurting Emile’s tired ears. 

George stood up on a stool and called for silence. “We came to ask if you maybe had any food to spare.” 

No sooner had the words left his mouth had the house elves turned and ran to the nearest cooler, stove or oven. They quickly returned with plates of pumpkin pasties and treacle fudge, bowls of a wide variety of soups and meat of all kinds. Several even carried out a gallon of butterbeer for them to split.

George let out a laugh at Emile’s expression. “Take your pick, Em. We’ll send this up to the common room to be ready when we get back.”

Emile smiled nervously at him before ordering a variety of food. Once they had all taken their pick they thanked the house elves for their generosity they left to follow the dark passageways up to the common room. Emile clung onto George’s arm on the way there, uncomfortable in the dark passageways.

Once they reached the portrait of the fat lady George leaned over to Emile. “You can let go now,” he whispered in her ear. Emile quickly let go, blushing, and stuck her hands into her pockets. 

Fred wiggled his eyebrows at her before saying “pig snout” to the tired portrait. Emile rolled her eyes at him before entering the common room. 

Sure enough, on a table by the fire pit sat the pile of food they had ordered just moments ago in the kitchen. A house elf sitting by the pile nodded and disapparated once it caught sight of the three approaching. 

WIth a huge smile on her face Emile dove into the feast before her. She downed a bowl of creamy tomato soup before helping herself to candied yams and roast duck with plum sauce. As the three ate in silence they received a few jealous looks from a few of the older students who were up late studying. Once she finished her main course Emile helped herself to a mug of warm butterbeer and a pumpkin pastie as she sat on the puffy couch, staring absentmindedly into the fire dying in the fireplace. 

“Some feast, eh Em?” Fred asked between bites of food. Emile smiled and took a sip of her butterbeer.

“I might never eat in the great hall again,” she said smiling at nothing in particular. At the moment Emile was perfectly content, warm with a full stomach, by the fire. 

The Weasley twins however seemed to take this very seriously.

“Emile,” Fred began awkwardly, looking at his brother for backup.

“You need to get out more, all you do is hide in the library between meals and classes.” Fred let out an exasperated sigh as George finished his sentence somewhat abruptly.

“I was trying to be subtle George, that was much too blunt,” he criticized his twin. 

George shrugged and looked at Emile expectantly. 

Emile stared at them nervously. She wasn’t going to come out and say she had anxiety to these two, she hardly knew them and they would never understand. They were too… happy. 

“I already told Angelina that i’d join them for meals, what more do you want from me?” Emile turned away from the boys and stared into the fire.

“We’ll have to get back to you about that.” Fred smiled and winked at his brother. Emile smiled weakly, the events of the past day making her eyelids heavy. She soon fell asleep to the sound of the boys hushed chatter.

Emile awoke a few hours later to the sound of a slamming door and running feet. She sat up on the sofa to find Fred and George gone, the half full gallon of butterbeer abandoned on the table with a note attached to it.

_ Em, you fell asleep.  _

_ Keep the rest of this, we have some extra hidden away in our dorms. _

_ F & G _

Behind her the sound of scuffling feet grew louder and she turned to find a group of panting first years collapsing into the armchairs.

“What are they thinking, keeping a dog like that locked up in a school?” the twins younger brother, Ron spoke, still gasping for breath. “If any dog needs exercise, that one does.”

Hermione glared at him, her arms crossed. “You don’t use your eyes, any of you, do you? Didn’t you see what it was standing on?”

“The floor?” the famous Harry Potter suggested, leaning closer to the bushy haired lass. “I’m sorry I wasn’t looking at its feet, I was too busy looking at its heads.”

Hermione gave an exasperated sigh. “It was standing on a trapdoor. It obviously guarding something.” She stood up abruptly, her hair bouncing. “Now if you don’t mind i'm going to bed, before either one of you comes up with another idea to get us all killed, or worse expelled.”

As Hermione sauntered off towards the girls dormitories Emile heard Ron quietly mutter to Harry, “She needs to sort out her priorities.” Emile couldn’t help but smile, as odd as that exchange had been. What was there at Hogwarts that could possibly need guarding? 


	4. Halloween

The next few weeks were typically uneventful for Emile. After awhile she got used to the Weasley twins dragging her off the dark secret passageways of the school for some reason or another. Lee Jordan was often present around the twins so Emile had started getting used to his company as well. She also found herself eating breakfast with Angelina and Katie Bell, who were not as girly girl as she had made them out to be. They took Quidditch very seriously and had freaked when they heard that Emile had never played it.   
One afternoon on her way up the stairs to Divination she was stopped by a tall fellow whom she thought she knew quite well.   
“Emile I need to ask you something.”  
“What do you want, Diggory?” Emile snapped. She was still upset with him for ignoring her since she’d been sorted into Gryffindor. If he could talk with Cho, a Ravenclaw, then he shouldn’t have any problem talking to her.  
“I’ve been worried about Mom and Dad,” he said in a low voice as some of his Hufflepuff pals walked by them, leering at Cedric as they passed. “They haven’t been sending any letters recently and I was wondering if you knew why?”  
Emile raised her hand to her forehead. She had forgotten to give Cedric the letter from Mr. Diggory.   
“Yes, I do know I’m so sorry I forgot to give you the letter the day I broke my leg and-”  
“You broke your leg?!” Cedric stared at Emile as if she’d grow a second head. “How could you break a leg, you never do anything active!”  
Emile frowned at her cousin, beginning to understand why the twins and Lee saw him as an arrogant git. “Cedric I fell down the stairs, but that’s besides the point.”  
“You fell down the stairs? When? I don’t remember any of this happening.” Cedric raised his hand in the air in defeat and sat down on the stairs.  
“Cedric, you arse,” Emile sighed. “It was a few weeks ago, but-”  
“When exactly did this happe-”  
“YOUR PARENTS WANT YOU TO KNOW THAT CORMAC HAS PASSED AWAY AND THEY ARE WAITING FOR A NEW OWL.” Emile covered Cedric’s mouth with her hand as she yelled in his ear. Cedric stared at her, dumbstruck.   
“They also say it's up to us whether we go home or stay for the holiday’s,” Emile continued without waiting for a response, not willing to get interrupted again. “If you do return home then you will end up going to the Minister’s christmas dinner.”  
With that said Emile turned and hurried up the rest of the stairs leading up to the Divination room. She was not at all willing to get a detention for being tardy on Halloween.   
Emile heard Cedric come into class a few minutes later, or rather she heard his friends greeting him loudly as she attempted to read Alicia’s tea leaves. She growled at the cup as she flipped through her book, unwilling to admit that she felt guilty for yelling.  
Alicia smiled across the small table at her. “Problem’s with Cedric?”  
Emile smiled slightly at her. “Not really, the problems more with me.”  
Later that day Emile found herself walking towards the library for the first time in over a week. She missed her little corner of solitude, the Weasley’s seemed determined to keep her away from it. Emile chose this time to go because Fred, George and Lee were busy cleaning up the mess they made in potions, and that was bound to take them awhile.   
As Emile slipped through the narrow crack by the wall her foot got caught in the opening. She yanked her foot in, only for her shoe to come off in the process. She stuck her hand out, groping around at nothing before she felt something else grab her hand.   
Emile shrieked and yanked her hand back. Her shriek turned into a groan as a familiar looking red head stuck his head in with a grin.  
“So this is your little hiding place, huh Em?” George laughed at Emile, who was sprawled on the floor. He sat down on the floor next to her and hit her in the back with a pillow.   
“Shush George,” Emile laughed. “Madam Pince can still hear what’s going on in here.”  
“Well then let me fix that.” George whispered in her ear. She gave him a glare and he laughed, whipping his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at the narrow crack that served as an entrance.  
“Muffliato!’ he said with a dramatic wave of his wand. Emile looked at him curiously. “I found it in one of Percy’s books once,” he explained. “Fills the ears of anyone nearby with buzzing so that they can’t hear you.”  
Emile rolled her eyes and took her shoe from him. As she put it back on George leaned over and began rummaging through her sack.  
“Can you not?” Emile grabbed the bag from him and held it against her chest. George smiled and lay down on the floor next to her.   
“Did you do all this?” He looked over at her, pointing to the lanterns floating above them.  
Emile nodded. “George why are you here? Shouldn’t you be back at Snapes?”   
He laughed. “Snape decided he couldn’t handle the three of us so he sent me out. Besides, I couldn’t let you go off on your own to mope now could I?”  
“Who said I was going to mope?” Emile punched him in the arm before taking the potions book out of her bookbag. “I was just going to do some studying.”   
George closed his eyes next to her. “Wake me up when it’s nearly dinnertime.”  
As Emile returned to deciphering the scribbles on the pages of the potions book from Snape. After she had written out the instructions found on one of the pages for the draught of living death, a loud snore startled her. She turned her head towards the sleeping redhead next to her. Even while sleeping there was still a smile on his face.   
Emiel hesitantly reached for her sketchbook and muggle pencil, opening the book to a clean page. As she sketched the sleeping redhead she felt calm. She hadn’t felt this free for a long time. But as she sat back to admire her work the intrusion of another redhead broke her calm atmosphere, and a wave of anxiety came flooding over her.  
“Hey nice hiding place Em.” Fred sat down on the pillows next to her and looked over at the sketchbook Emile was trying to cover up. “Hey, is that-”  
“Please don’t tell him!” Emile panicked as Fred took the sketchbook from her, hiding her face in her hands.  
Fred flipped through the sketchbook slowly. “Emile, these are really good.” He closed the book and placed it on her lap before putting a hand on her shoulder. “Why wouldn’t I tell him?”  
“I, I don’t know. I feel like he’d make fun of me.” Emile chewed on her lip as she put the sketchbook back into her bookbag.   
“You’re scared he’ll take it the wrong way.” Emile looked up at Fred, surprised at this new sincere side of him.   
“Well, yeah. I guess you could put it that way.” Emile let out a sigh. “Is it that hard to remain just friends?”  
Fred didn’t respond, he simply stared off into space, nodding his head.   
After a few minutes of silence George let out an earth shattering snore and they both jumped, laughing.  
“How did you find us anyways?” Emile asked Fred, the thought suddenly occurring to her.  
Fred smiled and pulled out a wrinkled piece of parchment out of his robe pocket. He tapped it with his wand and said, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” The parchment immediately began to change.   
As Fred unfolded it Emile let out a gasp. In front of her was a detailed map of the entire school, it even showed the people moving around. There was Hermione, in the girls bathroom, and Angelina and Katie out on the Quittage field. It even showed Dumbledore, pacing in his office.  
“Great isn’t it?” Fred beamed down at the parchment. “It’s called the Marauders Map, nicked it out of Filch's office our first year.”  
Emile let out a laugh. “Well that explains all the secret passageways.”  
Fred smiled at her and they spent the next half hour looking over the map. Fred showed Emile all of the secret passageways, some in the school and some outside of it. As the time slowly passed they noticed a fair amount of people moving towards the great hall.   
“Bloody hell it looks like the feasts about to start.” Fred took out his wand and tapped the map, this time saying “Mischief Managed.” Emile watched in amazement as it turned into a simple piece of parchment once again.  
As she closed up her bookbag, Fred stood up and sat on George, waking him up.  
“Come on ugly,” he teased as he slipped through the narrow entrance. George sat up, his hair ruffled, as Emile laughed and followed Fred. Once they were all outside of the library they ran down to the great hall laughing, sliding down the railings on the side of the stairs as they passed them.   
The decorations in the great hall were no short of magnificent. Gigantic pumpkins floated in midair, the candles inside of them flickering as live bats swooped in and out of them. Dark storm clouds covered the ceiling, an occasional shock of lightning flashing across it. The three took a seat across from Lee and Angelina, and the feast soon began.   
The house elves in the kitchen had done an amazing job, the food quality surpassed that of the welcoming feast. Emile had just passed Harry a plate of jacket potatoes when someone ran into the hall.  
“Troll! Troll in the dungeons!” Professor Quirrell ran past the tables of students and paused in front of the headmaster.”Just thought you ought to know,” he said with a weak smile, and promptly fainted.  
There was a moment of stunned silence before the screaming began. Emile sat in stunned silence as she looked around at the terrified school kids with a bemused expression. It took several purple firecrackers from Dumbledore to regain some form of order.  
“Prefects, lead your houses to their dormitories,” Dumbledore bellowed. Percy Weasley sprang up, eager to take his place.   
“Follow me! Stick together, first years! As long as you’re with me the troll can’t hurt you! Stick close! Excuse me, I’m a Prefect!”  
Fred and George followed their brother, imitating his every move. Once they reached the dormitories Percy had had enough, and he went up to the dorms. Emile collapsed onto one of the sofas by Lee and the twins.  
“Hey, hot stuff,” Lee winked at Emile from the the sofa next to her. She threw a pillow at him.  
“This is no laughing matter Lee,” she said in mocking voice. “I was planning on going down to the kitchen to get dinner leftovers later.”   
The three boys began to laugh, probably because they had been planning to do the same thing.   
“So anyways,” Lee threw the pillow back at Emile. “The holiday Hogsmeade visit is coming up.”  
Fred looked up from the game of wizard chess he had started with George. “That isn’t for over a month, Lee.”  
“But you know how Emile gets with planning,” Lee rolled his eyes at Fred before turning to Emile.  
“I’m right here you know,” Emile frowned and the boys laughed again.  
“Emile, you should come with us to Hogsmeade,” Lee smiled at her.  
George laughed in the background. “Emile, I believe old man Lee here is inviting you out on a date.”  
“Lee said ‘us’, George, implying that all three of you would be there,” Emile snapped at the redhead. He smiled but then groaned as Fred took out his King.   
“I’m going to my room.” Emile picked up her bag and left the boys, climbing up the stairs to her dormitory. As she entered the room the first thing she noticed was her bed. In fact, all the beds in the room were lying in pieces on the floor.   
“Merlins beard! Angelina, what’s going on?” Angelina smiled widely at Emile as she entered.   
“Emile! We were going to surprise you!” Angelina pulled Emile over to one of the whole beds. “Look at this!”   
The girls had taken apart their beds to move the mattress up higher, so that an enclosure was created underneath. The Curtains once surrounding each of the beds now hung from the ceiling.  
“It’s called a ‘loft bed’” Katie said, coming back from her corner of the room where she had just finished constructing hers. “We learned about them in Muggle studies, aren’t they fascinating?”  
“I think they’re intriguing.” Emile smiled at Angelina, who smiled back at her before running off to complete Emile’s loft bed. Once all of them were completed, Emile pulled out her wizard camera. They all crowded around one of the loft beds and smiled as one of the second years took their photo. This was one for the photo albums.


	5. Quidditch

As they moved further into November the weather grew colder and colder. Sudden rainstorms were now expected during the day, and it wasn’t uncommon for thunderstorms to occur during the nights. The only thing that anyone had to look forward to was the first Gryffindor quidditch match of the year. 

Oliver Wood was beside himself, constantly pacing around the common room and muttering while working out quittage strategies in a notebook. The twins were completely relaxed, playing exploding snap in the corner as Lee commented in preparation for his first big game. 

Harry Potter was the most nervous out of everyone. The day of the big game he barely ate anything for breakfast. 

“You’ve got to eat some breakfast, Harry.”

“I don’t want anything.” Harry turned away from Hermione. 

“Just a bit of toast,” she begged.

“I’m not hungry.”

Fred and George were oblivious to Harry’s despair as they stole food off Emile’s plate next to her. She slapped their hands and the food scattered across the table. George pouted at Emile as she stole one of his sausages, smiling. 

“Harry you need your strength,” said another male first year. “Seekers are always the ones who get nobbled by the other team.” Fred and George let out snickers beside Emile so she didn’t hear what Harry had said in response. 

By eleven o’clock a majority of the school had headed outside to watch the game. Emile reluctantly sat behind Ron and Hermione in the stands. She felt very lonely, all of her new friends were on the team, so she didn’t have anyone to sit with. 

As both teams entered the pitch Emile smiled slightly. Fred and George were waving gallantly to the crowd, while the girls stared ahead at Oliver Wood, who marched confidently up to Madame Hooch. 

“Now I want a nice, clean game. All of you.” Madame Hooch glared at the Slytherin team before grabbing her whistle. “Mount your brooms, please.” Once everyone had clambered onto their brooms she blew the whistle, and the game was on. 

“And the Quaffle is taken immediately by the Gryffindor Chaser Angelina Johnson -what an excellent chaser that girl is, and rather attractive too-”

“Jordan!” McGonagall roared behind him. Emile turned to the commentators stand where Lee was sitting and watched as he grinned sheepishly and apologized before returning to the game.

Emile turned to watch the quittage match. Though she had heard plenty about it from Cedric, (Emile’s chest tightened at the thought of him) she had never actually seen a game. She struggled to follow along for a several minutes, finally catching up just moments before “GRYFFINDOR SCORES” boomed over the fields. 

Just then the Gamekeeper, Hagrid, walked over and joined Ron and Hermione. Emile was forced to move up a few rows to see over Hagrid’s head. She found that she didn’t feel to sad about this, Ron and Hermione hadn’t been great company anyways.

She watched Harry circle the field above the game, scanning the field for the golden snitch. He narrowly avoided a bludger that Fred was streaking after. Fred yelled something to him, but he was quickly distracted Lee.

“Chaser Bucey ducks two bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell and speeds towards the-wait a moment, was that the snitch?”

Harry seemed to notice where Lee was referring too, seeing that he had suddenly flown downwards when WHAM! Marcus Flint had flown right into Harry, obviously attempting to block him. 

As the crowd began shouting its disapproval, and Emile chose this moment to take out her sketchbook. As she doodled on an empty page, she heard the game continue, and Lee attempting to remain neutral up in the stands. Time passed rather quickly as she doodled. It wasn’t until the deep voice of Hagrid sounded that Emile looked up, startled to find Harry Potter struggling to climb back onto his broom.

Once he got on he went into an incredibly steep dive, clamping his hand over his mouth as he neared the ground and falling off his broom. As Harry sat up he appeared to throw up into his hands, but the confused murmurs turned to cheers as Harry held up the golden snitch.

Emile jumped up and down clapping before grabbing her book and running down to the field. She hugged everyone on the team, excluding Harry who had run off with his friends and Hagrid. 

Fred laughed and picked her up as she hugged him. “If I put you down will you do me a favor?”

“Sure,” Emile responded, remembering after a moment who she was talking to, Her face dropped.

Fred laughed. “Relax Em, i’m not gonna make you kiss me.”

“Oh thank god, I wouldn’t want to get rabies.” Emile covered her mouth the moment the words came out, but Fred look over at her, thrilled.

“Emile, you finally started to come out of your shell!” He hugged her tightly, pretending to sob. “Show us your sarcastic side more often, you blonde git.”

Emile pushed him away, smiling. “What did you want me to do?”

“Well, we need to go shower before we head up to the common room, could you go down to the kitchen and order the Weasleys normal party platter to be delivered in half an hour?” Fred looked at her pleadingly.

“Of course.” Emile grabbed her bookbag and waved at George before walking up to the school from the pitch. As she passed Marcus Flint she heard him yelling at Madam Hooch about the snitch and the unfairness of the catch. Smirking, Emile rushed up to the castle, following a group of Hufflepuffs down towards the fruit painting. She knew that their dormitory was somewhere further down the hall.

Once the coast was clear Emile tickled the pear and stepped through the passageway. She walked down the tunnel, entering the bustling kitchen filled with house elves.

“Mistress Emile!” one squeaked as she approached them. “How may we be of service?”

“Oh, the Weasley’s sent me with a request, if it isn’t too much trouble.” 

The elf wiped a tear from her eye. “You are very kind, Mistress. It is never too much trouble for an elf. What to the Weasleys require of us?”

“They wish for the usual party platter to be delivered to the Gryffindor common room in half an hour.” Emile smiled at the Elf as she spoke. 

The elf bowed deeply. “Of course, Mistress Emile. Will you be requiring anything else?” 

Emile thought for a moment. “Actually, I was wondering if I could make a dinner request for next thursday.” 

“It’s uncommon but it can be done, Miss Emile.” the house elf squeaked. 

“Excellent.” Emile pulled out one of the muggle study books she had borrowed from the library. “In which case could you please make the contents of this page?” she said, handing the book to the elf. The elf nodded and disapparated, leaving Emile satisfied. 

As she exited the kitchen she heard a voice call her name. Emile quickly shut the portrait and swiped a hair away from her face, attempting to act casual. 

“Merlin’s beard Emile what are you doing?” Cedric rolled his eyes at her as his group of friends passed. They snickered at her and Cedric glared for a moment before winking at her. 

Emile glared at him and turned away, not bothering to respond. As the boys walked away she slipped into the secret passageway across from the portrait and ran along the familiar route to the moving staircases. She could feel her skin prickling uncomfortably. Cedric was her friend, why was he so different at school? What were these different personalities he showed everyone?

“Pig Snout,” she muttered at the painted lady, who swung open for her. As she entered the room she saw a small group of house elves decorating it with streamers in the Gryffindor colors. They bowed to her before returning to their decorating. 

Emile snuck up the stairs to her dorm, she could see everyone still celebrating at the quittage pitch below as she left her bookbag under her new loft bed. She had to say she really enjoyed these beds, it left more personal space for everyone in their wedges of the room.

Emile had hung a dark cloth that resembled the night sky, with enchanted stars that twinkled, over the side of the bed to make an enclosed space underneath for her. She often drew the cloth back but when the rest of the room wanted to sleep she would draw the makeshift curtains shut to complete homework or study or just simply to read. 

Emile drew the curtains shut for a moment as she changed from her school robes into jeans and a gryffindor tee shirt. She paused to look at herself in the full length mirror on the wall, staring into her own blue grey eyes. Her thin rimmed glasses were sitting on her nose, her dirty blonde hair was pulled back into its usual ponytail.

Emile pulled her hairband out and let her hair fall around her shoulders. No, that looked bad too. with a sigh she stuck it up into a messy bun, leaving some of her bangs hanging out. She smiled into the mirror. Damn gurl. 

Just then Angelina and Alicia burst into the room, followed by Katie Bell. 

“Emile!” they all cried in unison.

“Did you decorate the common room?” Alicia asked from her corner of the room.

Emile faked a confused expression. “Decorated the common room? Of course not, why would it ever be decorated.”

The girls laughed and drew their curtains shut to change out of their quidditch robes. Emile grinned and left the room, skipping down the stairs and into the common room. When she entered the fully decorated and food filled space, she felt someone pick her up and throw her onto one of the sofa’s.

“Lee!” she screamed, hitting the dark haired boy in the arm. He laughed and sat down next to her.

“What did you think of your first quidditch game?” He asked. “Wasn’t the commentary outstanding?”

“Yes, I think Angelina loved all the things you said about her.” Emile winked at Lee as he blushed. 

As he attempted to think of a comeback Emile noticed tanks of butterbeer in the corner, and went to go get some. As she sipped the frothy substance she sat down next to Lee, who was now accompanied by Oliver Wood and Katie. She listened as they discussed the match, Wood was simply bursting with happiness. As she placed her mug down Wood laughed and reached over to wipe her butterbeer foam mustache off of her face.

“Oi Wood,” a familiar voice rang behind her. “I don’t think you want to be making any moves on Em here.”

“Yes she’s a wild one, isn’t she Fred.” the redhead winked at his brother as they sat down on the sofa with Lee and Emile, who fell onto the floor due to lack of space. WIth a glare at the laughing redheads she sat down in an armchair facing the sofas, grabbing a pumpkin pastie from a tray nearby as she did. 

Emile began to drift off into sleep as she listened to the conversation and laughter around her. After a few attempts at resisting the wave of drowsiness she decided to give in, just for a three minute nap. However when she awoke to the sound of voices in the common room, she realized it had been more of a three hour nap. It was dark outside and all of the food was gone from the room. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were heading across the common room, each clutching some books and whispering intently. As they passed Emile’s armchair she heard a mention of a ‘Nicholas Flamel’. 

Emile rolled her eyes as she stood up from the armchair and stretched for a moment before heading up to her bed. When she finally fell asleep again she would find that she wouldn’t wake up until late afternoon the next day, and she wouldn’t remember anything about Nicholas Flamel.

A week later, dinner surprised everyone in muggle studies as a feast consisting of turkey, mashed potatoes, mashed sweet potatoes, candied yams, and cranberry sauce amongst an abundance of vegetables such as various styles corn and peas appeared on the tables. A dessert consisting of a large variety of pies followed. The muggle studies professor, Charity Burbage, began to weep from the staff table, and Emile couldn’t help but smile throughout the entire meal. 


	6. Christmas

Christmas was coming. One freezing morning in mid december, Emile and the rest of Hogwarts awoke to find the castle covered in several feet of snow. The lake was frozen over and Fred and George received detention for bewitching snowballs to follow Professor Quirrell and bounce of his turban. 

The hallways had grown frosty and cold, most students ran from class to class now in an attempt to retain some warmth outside. It was always a relief to enter the great hall or a common room, which always had steady fires going. 

A week before Christmas, Professor McGonagall had come around with a signup sheet for everyone who would be staying at Hogwarts during the holidays. Emile had not hesitated to sign up, both unwilling to attend another boring dinner and to spend two weeks alone with Cedric. She was surprised to see the Weasley’s on the list, but as it turned out their parents were going to visit their oldest brother, Charlie, in Romania and wouldn’t be home. 

As Emile was walking down to the dungeons for her final class, potions, she found her way blocked by a ginormous fir tree. Hagrid was at the other end, pulling it down the corridor. 

“Good day, Hagrid,” she said with a smile.

“Well, hello there, Emile.” he smiled and dropped the tree for a moment, breathing heavily. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I was just wondering if I could quickly climb by, I’m on my way to potions, you see.” Hagrid stepped back with a grin and Emile thanked him, clambering over and under the large branches until she was in front of the stairs to the dungeons.

“Thank you!” she called through the greenery, a muffled response echoed back to her before the tree began to move again. 

On her way down to the potions room Emile found herself face to face with Ron and Harry. They both looked quite flustered, so she let them pass her without any comment.

As she entered the potions room Professor Snape looked up from the front of the room.

“Good afternoon, Miss Gorska.”

“Good afternoon, Professor.” Emile sat down in her assigned spot near the center of the room before turning to face the front.

After a moment of silence Snape put down the papers he was grading.

“Miss Gorska, I see you did not receive my notice that I have cancelled today’s lesson.” Professor Snape glared from the front of the room, Emile could feel her cheeks turning red. 

“No, I did not Professor. I’m very sorry I’ll leave immediately.” Emile began putting her potions textbooks back into her book bag as she stood up from her chair.

“I expect you will be going home for the holidays, Miss Gorska,” Snape said after a moment, without looking up from the paper he was reading over.

“I don’t believe that is your business, Professor.” Emile frowned at Snape as he looked up with a slightly amused expression on his face. 

“Miss Gorska, would you come here for a moment?”

Emile hesitantly approached the Professor’s desk. Snape reached into one of the cupboards behind him and brought out a small cage.

“Miss Gorska, considering that you were the only to survive the ordeal I do believe I ought to give her to you.” Professor Snape handed the cage to a surprised Emile. “Merry Christmas.”

Inside the cage was the young rat Emile had used the shrinking solution on. Now a few months old, the tiny white thing with orange patches hobbled around the cage on unsteady feet. Emile couldn’t help but smile as the tiny black eyes met hers.

“Thank you, Professor Snape.” Emile hugged the surprised man, overwhelmed with emotion. He stood there rigid as a statue until she let go and exited the dungeons.

Emile hadn’t expected to receive many presents this year. Perhaps the usual christmas money from her father and a knitted scarf from Mrs. Diggory, but that was it. As she carried the small rat to her room she watched it scuttle around its tiny cage.

“I don’t know what i’ll name you,” she whispered to it as she set the cage down on her old nightstand before heading down to the great hall for dinner. As she followed a group of Ravenclaws towards the great hall she tripped and fell right on top of Fred Weasley.

“Merlin’s beard, George, I didn’t mean trip her onto me.” he laughed as he helped Emile up. 

“Where are you going with such a smile on your face?” George linked arms with Emile on one side as George linked arms on the other.

“Lee try to snog you again?” Fred teased, remembering the events of last Hogsmeade weekend.

“He wouldn’t have tried that if he hadn’t had that fire whiskey.” Emile defended Lee, knowing fully well he had his eye on Angelina. “Actually, I just received my first christmas present, and my first pet.”

“Blimey, and I thought it was something important,” George said, wrinkling his nose. Emile laughed and shoved him away from her. 

“A pet? From who?” Fred asked as George linked arms with him on his other side. 

“Snape, surprisingly enough. He gave me the rat I used the shrinking solution on, it’s simply adorable.” 

“Snape?” The twins stared at Emile as if she’d grown a second head.

“Yes, Professor Snape. You know, the potions master?” Emile laughed at their shock as they entered the great hall. It looked magnificent, holly and mistletoe hung from the walls and no less than twelve glistening trees stood around the room, some covered in icicles and others in tiny candles. 

“It looks lovely,” Emile smiled as they walked over to the Gryffindor table.

“Emile!” someone called from behind her. The twins turned with Emile as Cedric walked up to her. 

He looked over at the two redheads. “Could you excuse us for a moment?”

“Emile, holler if you need backup,” Fred whispered into her ear as they walked away.

Cedric looked at Emile. “So.”

“So.” Emile crossed her arms and looked him in the eyes.

“Heard you’re staying behind for the holiday’s,” he muttered, putting his hands in his pockets. 

“Yes, and?” Emile frowned. 

“I know you’ve been avoiding me, Emile, i’m not stupid.” Cedric looked at her somewhat sadly. “I just wanted to give you your christmas present before I left tomorrow morning. I know you sleep in on the weekends.”

Now it was Emile’s turn to look surprised as Cedric pulled out a small box from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Oh, um thanks, Cedric.” Emile stammered. “I sent your present home along with gifts for your parents.”

Cedric smiled. “It no problem. I’ll see you later, Merry Christmas Em.”

“You too, Ced.” Emile smiled as she slipped the small box into her bookbag. Cedric smiled back before heading over to the Hufflepuff table, and Emile to the Gryffindor.

“What did the git want?” George asked as she sat down across from him, helping herself to a bit of roast duck. 

“Oh, he just wanted to wish me merry christmas and give me a present.” Emile shrugged as she placed a bit of chicken ceaser salad onto her plate.

“And you accepted it?” Fred shook his head in mock disappointment.

“He’s my cousin, Fred, of course I did.” Emile rolled her eyes and took a bite of salad. 

George laughed at his brother and dinner continued without any interruptions. 

Once the holidays began, Emile found herself sleeping more and more. She didn’t care about her appearance anymore, and often walked around the castle in her flannel pajamas and a blanket. During the evenings she sat in the common room with the Weasleys and Harry, telling jokes and roasting marshmallows on a toasting fork over the fire.

“Have you ever tried s’mores?” Emile asked them one evening, Christmas Eve.

“What the bloody hell are shmoes?” Fred laughed next to her, rolling his eyes at his brother.

“Don’t muggles make them when they go camping?” Percy asked from the sofa behind them where he was busy writing out a letter.

“Yes, thank you Percy.” Emile smiled at him. She turned to the twins. “Would you like to accompany me to the kitchen for supplies?”

They nodded eagerly, probably excited to finally leave the common room. Sitting around the castle had made them pretty lazy, even with the occasional trip outside for a snowball fight.

The three of them flew down to the kitchen, the blanket Emile had around her shoulders billowing behind her like a cape. They arrived at the portrait gasping for breath.

“Go on Em, this is your plan,” George said once he’d caught his breath. Emile smiled at him and tickled the pear, watching as the door swung open and she crept into the warm kitchen. Many of the house elves were out cleaning the castle at this time of evening, but a few remained in the kitchen.

“Mistress Emile!” one cried.

“Master Weasley’s!” said another.

Soon a small congregation of house elves was gathered around the group. 

“How may we help you?” one chirped, looking up at them.

“I was wondering if we could have a box of graham crackers, two bars of dark chocolate, and another bag of marshmallows sent up to the Gryffindor common room, if it isn’t too much trouble.” Emile smiled sweetly at the house elves, who immediately tripped over each other in an attempt to fulfill the request first. 

“And a pot of hot chocolate!” the twins chimed at the same time, grinning at each other. 

Emile laughed. “That will be all, I guess.” She bowed to the house elves. “Thank you very much.”

A chorus of “no problem” and “it was fine” followed the three of them out the portrait door, and they ran back up to the common room, this time with considerably more effort since they were running up the stairs instead of down them.

Once they were back by the fire, Emile showed the twins and Percy how to make s'mores, Harry and Ron had started a game of wizard's chess in their absence.

“I think mines toasted Emile,” Percy said as he took his browned marshmallow away from the fireplace.

“Good, give it here.” Emile took the marshmallow from him and placed it on top of a piece of chocolate. She quickly sandwiched the two between two graham crackers and handed it to Percy, who took a greedy bite.

“Iths rewy goowed!” he mumbled with his mouth full. “However did you learn how to make these?”

“An american cousin on my father’s side.” Emile smiled, remembering Alex fondly. 

As Fred and George finished their own s’mores, Emily made two more and took them over to Ron and Harry.

“Try these while they’re still hot,” she told them, placing the plate next to the chessboard. As the two grumbled their thanks, their mouths full, Emile headed back to the fireplace, sitting down between the twins.

“I didn’t know you had an american cousin.” George looked over at Emile once they had finished most of the marshmallows and all of the chocolate. Fred was pouring them all hot chocolate from a large pot that had been heating over the fire.

“Well, there’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, George Weasley.” She smiled at the redhead as Fred handed out the cups of hot chocolate. Emile took a few of the marshmallows and broke them into several smaller pieces, dropping them into her hot coco.

“Emile Gorska you are a genius,” Percy said behind her as he copied what she had done.

Harry and Ron finished their game of wizard’s chess and went up to their dorms.

Once the hot coco had been drunk and the clock struck midnight, Emile decided to retire for the night, somewhat remorsefully. 

“Don’t you get lonely up there all alone?” asked George, watching her stand up.

“A bit,” Emile admitted.

George stood up and grabbed her shoulders, smiling. “Meet us down here in ten minutes, and bring your mattress and sleeping stuff.”

Emile gave George a hug, surprised when he hugged her back. She ran up the stairs to her dorms and grabbed her mattress, blanket, and pillow. Before she left she took the rat, which she had named Carrot and poured in some rat food Mr. Diggory had sent her yesterday. No doubt Cedric had told him about her new pet.

Emile placed the mattress on the stairs and leaned forwards slightly, laughing as she slid down them. Apparently Fred had had the same idea, because as she slid down the stairs and into the common room she crashed into another mattress. They looked at each other and laughed before getting up and pulling their mattresses over in front of the fire, pushing some of the sofas aside to make room. Fred put his mattress in the middle, directly in front of the fire. Emile smiled and put hers to the right of his, leaving George (who slid down the stairs a moment later) to put his on Fred’s left. 

Once they were all tucked in, Emile smiling, it didn’t take long for Fred to fall asleep. His snores echoed softly around the common room. Emile grinned as she stared into the fire, her glasses off. 

“Em?” came a whisper across from her.

“George?” she whispered back, turning in the general direction of his voice. Her eyesight without her glasses was terrible, but she had the general idea of where his head was.

“Yeah. You awake?”

“No kidding,” Emile laughed softly, her laugh breaking off as she let out a yawn. 

“Yeah, I guess that was a stupid question,” he said, and though Emile couldn’t see him she could hear the smile in his voice.

They sat in silence, Emile watching the tiny flames flicker weakly. After a few minutes a thought occurred to her. 

“Hey George?” she whispered.

“Hmm?” came the response. 

“Why were you guys so determined to befriend me?” Emile turned to where she assumed he was. “You know, back at the beginning of the year.”

George thought about it for a moment. “Well, you just seemed like you needed a friend. And we did kind of see you in nothing but a blanket.”

Emile laughed. “So what, your male hormones said to you ‘hey she’s got nice gams we’d better befriend her?’”

George was laughing too. “No, Emile nothing like that. You’re a great friend, but I can’t imagine dating you.”

Emile paused for a moment, unsure why these words hurt her the way they did. 

“Would it be weird if I asked why not?” she said, somewhat awkwardly.

“Well, you just aren’t really, my type.” George yawned after he said these words. “Anyways I think I’ll try to sleep now. Goodnight.”

“Night,” Emile whispered as the last flames died in the fireplace, leaving only the dying embers. 

Emile woke up in the morning to the sounds of laughter. The twins were sitting up on their mattresses, looking through their presents. Their piles were considerably larger than Emile’s, but she smiled anyways as she sat up, stretching. 

“Morning,” they chimed in unison as she crawled over to the edge of her bed, the tank top she slept in slipping off one of her shoulders. Emile grumbled as she pulled it back up, Fred blushing next to her.

“Look Emile, our mum sent you a parcel too!” George smiled as he pulled a bulky parcel from the bottom of her pile. Emile grinned as she took it from him, carefully opening it up to find a thick, red, knitted sweater with a large E on the front of it.

“It’s lovely!” she beamed as she slipped it on, the soft inside warming her cold arms. 

She opened the rest of her presents, a box of thick socks from the Diggory’s (which the twins scoffed at but Emile was delighted with), a book about Quidditch from her three roommates, and a large box of her favorite muggle candies (along with a letter) from her father. From Cedric, she received a small glass orb that when placed over a light, showed all the constellations depending on where you were and what time of year it was. 

“Emile you shouldn’t have.” The twins exclamation made her turn towards them. She had gotten them maroon hats and scarves that matched their hair color. 

“Now it’ll be even harder for mom to tell us apart,” Fred laughed as he ran up to the boys dormitories with George. 

Emile smiled and picked up the scraps of paper that littered the floor of the common room, throwing them away before returning to carry her presents up to her room. When she returned to fetch her mattress and blankets, Fred and George appeared from the boys dorms with a struggling Percy.

“See Percy? Even Emile’s got a jumper from mom!” George said to his older brother as Percy attempted to fix his glasses, which were falling off of his face.

“Seriously George!” Emile said in an exasperated tone as she fixed the poor man’s glasses. 

George winked at her as they let his brother go, going off to help Fred take their mattresses back to their room. Emile followed them, sighing.

Christmas dinner that evening was spectacular. Emile had put on a knee length black dress under her official Weasley jumper and black high tops. She was a firm believer in not wearing high heels, much to the disapproval of Mrs. Diggory. They messed up womans feet something awful.

Since there were so few students at the school for the holidays, they all sat at one table filled with platters of chipolatas, buttered peas, turkey, gravy, cranberry sauce, and both roasted and mashed potatoes. Wizard crackers sat in piles every few feet along the table. Fred and Harry pulled one of the crackers to find a red-admirals hat and several live white mice inside. Professor Dumbledore had swapped his pointed wizard's hat for a flower bonnet.

After the main course came flaming christmas pudding, Percy nearly broke his tooth on a silver sickle embedded inside his slice. Emile found it quite entertaining to watch the adults get more and more drunk. Some, like Hagrid, grew very red in the face while others, such as Professor McGonagall, simply laughed at everything. This was proven when Hagrid kissed her on the cheek and she merrily giggled, her hat lopsided.

Emile joined Harry and the Weasley’s for a snowball fight the rest of the afternoon until the six of them finally returned to the dorms, soaking wet and cold to the bone. Emile took every opportunity to rub the fact that there was no line for a hot shower in the girls dorms into the boys faces. After a tea of turkey, sandwiches, crumpets, and christmas cake, everyone went to their dorms for a good night’s sleep. As Emile watched the stars moving across the ceiling of her dorm she smiled, not being able to remember the last time she had enjoyed christmas this much.


	7. Seasonal Depression

Once the next term began, Emile found herself in the library more and more often. All of her friends except for Lee were on the Quidditch team, and Oliver was working them harder than ever. Emile had shown Lee her little spot in the library, and he sometimes joined her there to study or to write an essay he had been putting off. 

One day at breakfast the twins were unusually silent as they chewed on their toast.

“What happened?” Emile asked and they looked up at her in shock. She let out a sigh of exasperation. “I’m not stupid, you know. I know something’s up.”

“Well everythings fine, except,” Fred looked over at George.

“Snape’s refereeing my next match,” George mumbled, not holding eye contact with Emile.

Emile restrained from rolling her eyes. Snape would probably be nicer to the Weasley’s if they payed attention in his class, not that they payed attention in many classes.

Just then Lee sat down next to them.

“Hey Lee.” The twins brightened immediately. Emile frowned and left the table.

“See you after potions!” Lee called after her before turning to the redheads. 

Emile grumbled as she left the great hall. Was she a bad friend? Is that why they’d been acting so weird around her? With a sigh she trudged up to the library for some last minute studying before Divination.

The days passed by slowly, yet before Emile knew it the big Quidditch game was upon them. Though the twins had been avoiding her recently, she still figured she ought to be there to support her house. She put on her skinny jeans and her honorary Weasley sweater, and after glancing out the window wrapped her gryffindor scarf around her neck. 

As she headed down to the Quidditch field, bookbag slung over her shoulder, Emile noticed Neville ahead of her. A knot formed in her stomach as she caught sight of her half brother, he didn’t even know who she was. She followed him down to the field, sitting further down the row from him, Ron, Hermione, who were anxiously whispering about something. A group of Slytherins sat behind them. 

As the teams marched onto the field, Emile felt more uncomfortable. There were the twins, who had been behaving oddly towards her, along with her roommates, facing off against her cousin, who had been a complete arse these past few months except when he wasn’t around his hufflepuff friends. 

As the game began, a sudden commotion on Emile’s right distracted her. One of the slytherins sitting behind the three first years kept insulting the lot of them. Before Emile could intervene, Harry went into a steep dive in the field, and her attention was distracted once more. As Emile cheered the slytherin leered once more at Ron and he snapped, leaping over the benches on top of him. Neville quickly followed. 

Emile tried to go over to stop the fight, but as she got up to move everyone began screaming and clapping. Emile looked over at the pitch to see Harry holding up the snitch. He had caught it within the first five minutes of the game. That put Gryffindor in the lead for the house cup.

Emile sat down on top of the stands as everyone left to celebrate. Why didn’t she feel happy? Her house was in the lead for the house cup, they had just won a record breaking Quidditch match, yet she felt empty inside. 

Emile didn’t know how long she stayed outside, but once the sun had almost set and she could no longer feel her hands she decided it was high time to head back inside. As she entered the common room, the first thing that caught her eye was the streamers. Fred and George must have gotten the house elves to bring up the party platter. 

Emile kept her eyes down as she walked over to the stairs leading up to the girls dorms, and thankfully no one noticed her. As she changed into her pajamas without bothering to close the curtains, she felt nothing. As she climbed up into her bed at stared at the ceiling, she felt nothing. As she slowly and uneasily drifted off into sleep, she felt nothing.

That night, Emile dreamed. At first she was in a yellow dress, floating in a lake black as stormclouds. She swam over to the shore and went up to a cottage in the woods to find her father inside, drunk and unconscious. Suddenly, he sat up and stared at her, but he had no eyes. Just gaping black holes. Emile ran through the woods, calling for her mother as the bear chased after her. She jumped into the lake, swimming away as fast as she could. Then she fell. And then she screamed.

In the few weeks that followed, Emile didn’t talk to anyone. She began skipping meals, and she devoted all her time to the library. All the professors seemed to have a shared thought that exams were suddenly upon them, even though they were over ten weeks away. The amount of homework Emile had received in classes was overwhelming. 

Lee had tried to get Emile to study with him in her hidden space several times, but Emile had simply smiled and said ‘perhaps later.’ Then she sat out by a table near Madam Pince where no one bothered her out of fear of the librarian. 

One day, driven more by hunger than need of companionship, Emile attended dinner at the usual time. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, she sat reading at one end of the table, hardly paying attention to the chatter going on around her, yet fully conscious of all the looks people kept giving her. 

Halfway through the meal, she decided she had had enough. Stuffing her borrowed copy of Advanced Potion Making into her bookbag, Emile escaped the great hall and headed to the kitchen. Once she entered the room, she sat down in the corner behind some barrels of butterbeer and resumed her reading. Several house elves came up to her and asked is she needed anything, but Emile turned them all away.

“Mistress Emile.” One of the elves sat down next to her. 

“Hello Kringle, how are you?” Emile smiled slightly at the house elf next to her. 

“I am well, Miss,” Kringle squeaked. “Mistress Emile seems lonely.”

“I just want some solitude, Kringle.” Emile looked over at her book once more.

“If solitude is what Mistress seeks, than solitude Mistress shall get.” Kringle stood up and jumped up and down excitedly. “Follow me. Mistress Emile, follow me!”

Emile stood up and followed the house elf as they exited the kitchen. She led Emile up to the seventh floor, up to a blank wall. 

“Mistress Emile must simply walk back and forth three times thinking about what you need.” Kringle said before disapparating, leaving Emile in stunned silence. She stood in front of the wall, waiting for something to happen. 

After a few minutes, some very familiar sounding laughter rang throughout the hall, making Emile jump. She hurriedly put together a thought in her mind, running back and forth in front of the wall with her eyes closed.

_ I need somewhere I can hide from the Weasley’s. _

_ I need somewhere I can hide from the Weasley’s. _

_ I need somewhere I can hide from the Weasleys. _

When she opened her eyes a small door had appeared in front of her, resembling that of a  broom cupboard. As she crawled into the opening and slid behind a shelf of brooms Emile was astounded to find, a television. It was sitting amongst a pile of boxes and old cushions.

Emile sat down on one of the cushions and opened one of the nearest boxes. It was filled with a rather large variety of Disney movies. As Emile looked through the boxes she couldn’t help but smile as she pulled out several of her favorite movies. The Little Mermaid, Robin Hood, The Aristocats, and a whole lot more. 

But Emile’s happiness was short lived, because a moment later the door opened and two red mops of hair ran in, gasping as they shut the door behind them.

“I don’t remember this being on the map,” George said as he looked around the cupboard.

“Who cares?” Fred backed towards the shelves Emile was sitting behind. “Come over here so Filche doesn’t see us if he decides to check inside.”

Emile ducked behind one of the boxes, curling up into a ball in a miserable attempt to hide herself. And apparently it worked, for a few minutes anyways. As the twins began fiddling with the muggle contraption that was sitting in the broom closet, they also began searching through the boxes. Fred was trying to figure out how the VCR worked as he threw the movies over the sides of the boxes, and Emile let out a small yelp as one hit her on the head. 

The twins stared, jaws dropped as Emile sat up, rubbing the back of her head with one hand. She didn’t look them in the eyes as she picked up one of the fallen cassette tapes, this one being the Aristocats, and opened its box. She turned the TV on and put the cassette tape into the VHS. The twins watched in silent amazement as the movie began. 

Emile sat in silence a few feet away from them, humming along to the songs. Halfway through the movies George leaned over and dragged her closer to them. Emile gave a small smile but didn’t look at them as George put a blanket around her shoulders. 

As the movie credits ended, Emile got up and left the broom cupboard. The twins didn’t stop her from leaving, both of the redheads were sound asleep.

The next morning, when Emile headed down to breakfast she was shocked at what was in front of her. In a course of one night Gryffindor house had lost a hundred and fifty points. 

“What happened?” Angelina asked, walking up to Emile. Emile smiled at her roommate, she still considered herself to be on good terms with the members of her sleeping compartment. 

“I have no idea, but I think I know someone who might.”

As the Weasley twins entered the great hall Emile cornered them along with Angelina.

“What did you two do?” Angelina snarled as Emile glared at them next to her. 

“Why ladies, we’re flattered,” Fred winked at the cross armed teens.

“But I’m afraid we simply cannot take credit for this.” George put his arms around the girls and led them towards the Gryffindor table.

“If not you then who?” Emile asked, ducking away from George’s arm.

George simply shrugged at Emile, smiling as they sat down. Lee walked over to where the third years were sitting, frowning.

“It was Potter,” he announced, sitting down beside Angelina. “He got caught out after hours with Granger and Longbottom.”

Emile choked on her pumpkin juice at the mention of Neville’s name. As she sat coughing in her seat Lee hit her on the back in an attempt to help. 

“I’m fine,” she choked out after a moment, taking a tiny sip of her juice to prove it.

“I see why you would react that way, who would have thought Hermione Granger would lose us 50 points?” Angelina said as she took a bite out of her toast. 

Emile nodded as she loaded her plate with bacon, silently laughing inside. They thought she was surprised at Hermione. She actually thought it was about time Hermione got into trouble, Ron and Harry had finally started rubbing off onto her. 

She looked over at Neville, who was sitting awkwardly with the trio. He often got teased for being forgetful, and it was no doubt going to be worst than ever. As Emile chewed on her bacon, she made a mental note to stop any teasing she heard about Neville in the upcoming week, after that it was exams week and he was on his own.

After a moment of silence, Angelina grabbed Emile’s arm.

“I just realized something,” she stage whispered as Emile leaned closer to her. Emile regretted that decision immediately as Angelina yelled “You’re eating with us!” into her ear.

“Blimey, don’t scare her off, she’s just starting to come around.” Fred laughed as he threw a bit of toast across the table at Angelina. She caught it in her mouth and winked at Fred, who rolled his eyes.

Emile grinned at Lee, who was red in the face next to her. She was being ridiculous, and she had missed her friends.


	8. The End of the Year

The weather had grown quite warm as the end of term drew nearer and nearer. The week of final exams was terrible, especially when they had to stay inside for written exams. The hot stuffy rooms made it much harder to concentrate, Emile wished bitterly (and not for the first time) that muggle items could be brought to school. A large fan would be so welcome at these moments.

After the third years had all taken their Charms exam, the final exam any of them had to take, a large group of them headed down to the lake to celebrate and relax. Emile and the twins ordered a large basket of sandwiches and iced butterbeer from the kitchen before heading outside where they were joined for a picnic by Lee, Angelina, and Alicia. Katie Bell was with her friend Leanne on the Quidditch field, where they were having a friendly competition with a group of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws.

As the group ate through the baskets of sandwiches, Lee spotted a giant squid basking in the shallows of the lake. The boys quickly became engrossed in the creature and went down to tickle it in the tentacles. 

“Boys.” Alicia rolled her eyes at the girls, smiling, as she reached for another sandwich.

Emile watched the three of them wrestling in the shallows, a plan forming in her mind.

“You know,” she began with a look at the other two, “they left their shoes and socks here, completely unguarded.”

Angelina smiled deviously. “How foolish of them.”

They grabbed the boy’s socks and began to transfigure them in any way they could think of. Emile laughed at the flashing rainbow pattern Alicia had put onto George’s socks.

“It’s time he showed a little pride,” Alicia said as she gestured at Lee’s blank socks in Emile’s hand. “Pass them here will you?” 

Emile quickly transfigured the socks into toe socks before chucking them at Alicia. Alicia quickly covered them in sparkling rainbow hearts.

“Aw, they match!” Angelina laughed from where she had grown working wings out of Fred’s socks, which were covered in feathers. 

The laughter coming from them seemed to attract the attention of the boys, seeing as they quickly ran up to the picnic location. The girls tried stuffing the socks back into their shoes, but it was a bit hard not to notice the flashing rainbow lights coming from inside.

“You didn’t.” Lee gasped as he removed his toe socks from inside his shoe.

“They did,” the twins responded, smiling at their own socks.

“Marvelous piece of magic, ladies.” Fred admiringly put his feathered socks on, only for them to desperately attempt to fly away. Everyone was on the ground laughing as Fred struggled to maintain a handstand on the slick grass. 

“Immobulus!” he shouted, pointing his wand at the socks. The wings immediately stopped flapping and Fred lost his balance, falling onto his face. George helped his brother take the socks off, laughing. 

“I think we ought to take revenge, don’t you agree Lee?” George asked the dark skinned boy, who was sitting next to him. Lee nodded, still looking slightly appalled at his lovely toe socks.

Together the three boys tackled the girls and dragged them down to the lake, tossing them into the icy water. After several minutes of wrestling and splashing, Hagrid ran over from his hut with Fang.

“Are ye six out of yer minds?” he said, smiling. “What do ye think yer parents would say if ye come home with hypothermia?”

Laughing, they apologized before heading up to the common room, soaking wet. Not one of them felt bad for the trail of water they left behind, that was Filches problem now.

That night Emile awoke after another nightmare with a desperate need for water. As she headed down groggily to the common room where she knew there was often several pitchers of water left out at night, she tripped over something on the floor.

“What the…?” Emile leaned over, patting the ground next to her with her hands. She had left her glasses and wand back in her room, which proved to be a mistake as she realized a person was petrified on the floor.

“Oh shit! Wait right here!” she said as she ran back up to her room, grabbing her glasses and wand from under her pillow. 

“Lumos,” Emile whispered to her wand as she ran back into the common room. She wasn’t at all very surprised to find Neville lying front of her. As she performed the counter charm to the full body bind, he sat up, gasping for breath.

“Blimey, I thought I was going to be here all night.” Neville stood up shakily, holding onto one of the common room arm chairs for support. “Thanks uh…”

“Emile. Emile Gorska,” she muttered as she avoided eye contact with him. “What happened to you, Neville?”

“Hermione. She jinxed me!” Neville frowned. “She left with Harry and Ron, I tried stopping them. Gryffindor doesn’t need any more house points taken from it.”

Emile chewed on her lip for a moment. “Alright Neville, I’ll go get McGonagall. You go to bed.”

“But I-”

“Neville use your common sense, you’ve already gotten into trouble this term, and not that long ago. McGonagall would be furious if you were out of bed at this hour.” Emile looked at her half brother for the first time, wincing as her eyes met his. He looked a lot like their mother.

“Alright,” he muttered after a moment of silence.

“Thank you.” Emile turned swiftly and ran out of the common room and down the stairs to McGonagall’s office. She knocked twice on the heavy wooden door before entering. 

“Professor?” Emile stuck her head into the ridy office room.

“I hope you have a good excuse for waking me Miss Gorska.” Emile jumped as McGonagall stepped out of the shadows in her nightgown.

“I do, Professor.” Emile launched into an explanation of what had happened, watching McGonagall grow more and more irritated as she explained. 

“Those foolish little... Merlins beard... Potter you,” Professor McGonagall broke off and sighed, putting her hands over her face. “Thank you for informing me, Miss Gorska. Please return to your common room, I will handle this from here.”

Emile nodded before leaving, knowing fully well she wouldn’t be getting any more sleep tonight.

The next day when everyone woke up, Harry Potter was in the hospital wing for unknown reasons. Many rumors flew around the school, but it wasn’t until he awoke two days later that everyone found out the truth. 

Hermione and Ron came back from a hospital visit with Harry with an elaborate tale of challenges and Voldemort and something to do with Quirrell’s head, Emile honestly didn’t pay too much attention to it. She could just ask the twins to write it out for her later in the summer, because Emile was sure Ron would not stop talking about this years events when he got home. 

That night at the end of year feast the great hall was covered in green and silver. Slytherin house was sitting triumphantly at their table and even Professor Snape could not wipe a smug look from his face. 

Emile had difficulty hearing Dumbledore’s speech over all the whispering going on at the Gryffindor table, so she was surprised to see the glass containing Gryffindor house points suddenly raise in number.

“Shut up!” she hissed, covering Fred’s mouth with her hand as he tried to say something to Lee.

Percy was smiling at everyone around him and Ron’s face had gone purple.

“Hey,” George looked over at the hourglass and then at Ron. “Did he just-”

Several people shushed him.

“Second- to Miss Hermione Granger… for use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points!”

Hermione let out a happy gasp and Angelina high fived her from across the table as the Gryffindors cheered excitedly.

“Third- to Mr. Harry Potter...” the room had gone completely silent at this point. “...for pure nerve and outstanding courage I award Gryffindor house sixty points!”

Emile grabbed Fred’s shoulder and shook it vigorously. 

“We’re tied with Slytherin!” she yelled over the loud cheers coming from the Gryffindor table.

All eyes turned to Dumbledore as he raised his hand for silence.

“There are all kinds of courage,” said Dumbledore, smiling. “It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr Neville Longbottom.”

Emile ran over and hugged Neville from behind along with a majority of the house. His face was white as a ghost, he was no surprise shocked that he had managed to grab his house the house cup. 

With a clap of Dumbledore’s hands, the Green and Silver banners quickly turned into red and gold, and the giant serpent statue turned into a large lion. 

Emile didn’t remember much else of the feast. She didn’t remember packing her trunk and deconstructing the loft beds. She didn’t remember the train ride back to Kings Cross, mostly because she had spent most of it sleeping with her head on Lee’s shoulder. She didn’t remember anything, until she was back in her old bedroom at the Diggory’s, with a handful of addresses in her hand and her goodbyes still hanging on her lips. 


	9. Summer Gala

Emile ran up to the Diggory’s sitting room one afternoon in late July. She had heard a slam on the window, a slam accompanied by a loud screech. That was usually a sign that the Weasley family owl, Errol, had arrived with a letter from the twins. 

“I’ve got it!” she yelled as she ran past Cedric, who was watching her curiously from outside. She didn’t usually abandon an intense game of croquet.

Emile helped Eroll onto her arm and brought him over to the birdcage where he could freshen up. Once he had drunk a bit of water he presented her with his leg, which she took as a signal to take the long awaited letter.

Our dearest Emile,

twas many a fortnight since we last spoke, and still i cannot forget the sound of your laughter. It’s so very annoying.

Don’t worry, we’re joking. Partially. You asked for an update on Harry, well we are planning to bust him out of his prison soon, if you want we could pick you up on the way from his place. Mum says it’s fine, she’s anxious to meet you.

Let us know if that works. If not we’ll be around to get you after we pick up Harry. You aren’t getting out of this one.

Not at all sincerely,

Fred and George Weasley

Emile smiled and tucked the letter into the pocket of her shorts. At last she had something to look forward to. After an entire summer of Quidditch games with Cedric and his boys, important teas with members of the ministry, and coping with the slowly deteriorating health of her prison bound father, the only thing Emile had to look forward to was the evening horseback rides around the countryside where they lived. 

Emile now had her own personal horse, a gorgeous arabian palomino with warm brown eyes and a white star on her forehead. She was very well trained, and gentle as a bunny. Emile had named her Nepeta, after her star sign, Leo. She had received Nepeta as an early birthday gift in the summer, her actual birthday was August 31st, but she needed a summer activity to keep her occupied. 

“Uncle Amos!” Emile ran outside to where she had left her extended family playing croquet. 

“What is it, my dear?” Amos Diggory smiled as Cedric swung his mallet. “Concerned you’ll be stuck doing the dishes after another loss, eh? I don’t blame you, not many could beat Cedric at croquet.” 

Emile tried not to roll her eyes as her Uncle boasted about his son for the millionth time. It only made Cedric’s ego inflate even more. 

“Father, I doubt it.” Cedric walked over to them, smirking. “Emile probably heard from one of her boyfriends, and they want her to spend the rest of the holiday’s at their house.”

Emile gawked at her cousin, her face flushing. This arrogant toad. One of her boyfriends? He had more admirers than Hermione had books!

Unfortunately this comment drew the attention of Mrs. Diggory, a lady who would rather die than be related to anyone who slept over at a boys house whilst underage. After a heated argument that, like always, ended with Emile leaving, she ran off to her room to write a note back.

Dear Fred & George,

Unfortunately Cedric worked his magic on his parents and I’m not allowed to leave. I suspect that if your mother or father personally wrote a letter to the Diggory’s I would be allowed to visit (hint hint sos please help).

I hope you get Harry out alright.

-Emile V. Gorska

With a sigh Emile went down to where Errol was sleeping in the cage. She stroked his head before attaching the note to his foot and sending him away. As the owl disappeared behind the hills she headed out to the stables to take Nepeta out for a ride. Her evening horseback rides were apparently the only freedom she got.

A few days later, Emile was sitting on her bed listening to muggle radio when there was a knock on her door. 

“Come in,” she called out, busy watching Carrot run around in her little hamster ball her father had gotten her. 

The door creaked open and a familiar dark skinned boy peered in. 

“Lee!” Emile jumped off of her bed and ran over to her friend, hugging him. She almost hadn’t recognized him out of his school robes in regular muggle clothes. He laughed and hugged her back momentarily before coming into her room, closing the door behind him.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, sitting back down on her bed.

“Oh, my dad works up at the ministry and your uncle invited us over for two nights since your big summer gala is tomorrow.” Lee looked around Emile’s room as he spoke, not that there was much to look at. Her closet was over in one corner, her bed was in another. One wall was covered in bookshelves, one of which led to a secret library where she stored most of her school books. She often went in there to write and/or listen to muggle music when everyone was asleep.

“Ugh, the gala.” Emile fell backward on her bed, staring up at her ceiling. “It’s a yearly pain.”

“Oh come on Em, lighten up,” Lee poked Emile in the stomach. “Gala’s aren’t all that bad.”

“Sure they aren’t.” Emile sat up, smiling. “Hey, if your father knows my uncle why haven’t I seen you at one of these parties before?”

Lee rolled his eyes at her. “Now that I’m of Hogwarts age it’s become a requirement. Father thinks it will get the ministry interested in me from a young age.”

Emile smiled at him. “Well I’m glad you’re here, I get very lonely in this manner. It’s just me and Carrot.” Emile picked up the little hamster ball that Carrot was in, putting her pet back into her cage. Emile had bought a new cage for her rat, a larger and more elaborate cage complete with a running wheel and several tubes to run around in.

“Didn’t you get a horse for your birthday?” Lee asked, smiling at her.

Emile let out a gasp. “You have to meet Nepeta while you’re here, I’ve been wanting to show her to a friend for so long! Let me change into riding clothes first.”

Emile grabbed her riding pants and a clean green t-shirt from her closet and ran out of her room to the bathroom to change. Once she had put on the clothing, she pulled her hair out of its usual messy bun and put it in two pigtails.

Emile ran back into her room to find Lee flipping through her sketchbook.

“You tend to draw George a lot, don’t ya Em?” he winked at her as she blushed and snatched the sketchbook from him and putting it on one of her shelves. 

“It’s not like that.” Emile turned away from him and pulled on her riding boots.

“Thank goodness, good to know that the coast is clear.” Lee obviously joked as he followed Emile down the hall and outside to the stables. As they pulled large door open, Emile ran over to the farthest stall on the left, waving for Lee to come and join her. 

As he approached the stall door, a large beige head poked out, nickering at Emile. She smiled and stroked Nepeta’s velvety nose before reaching into her pocket and feeding her a carrot. 

“Lee, meet Nepeta. Nepeta,” the horse whinnied as Emile said her name, “meet Lee.”

Lee stood in front of the horse awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He’d never really been near a horse before, Emile knew that much.

“Well, come on, let’s saddle her up.” Emile opened the door to the stall and stepped inside, gesturing for Lee to follow her. Once inside he watched as Emile brushed Nepeta, picked her hooves, and saddled her up. All he really did was hand her the combs she needed when asked.

“This is a rather large saddle for someone so small,” Lee said, meaning to tease her.

Emile let out a laugh as she looked from the two person saddle to Lee. “Well it’s for the two of us, you brainless Tory.”

“Wh-what?”

“You honestly don’t expect me to let you ride on your own horse when you’ve never been before, do you?” Emile saw Lee swallow nervously. “Come on, if you can bring a hairy spider to school, you can ride a horse once with me.”

Emile fastened her riding helmet onto her head before helping Lee with his, then grabbed Nepeta’s reins and lead her out of the barn, Lee by her side. When they got outside she put one boot in the metal stirrup and jumped up, swinging her other leg over Nepeta’s back. Once she had both feet secure in the stirrups and a hand on the saddlehorn, she reached her hand out to Lee.

“You’ll be fine, just do what I did.” Lee looked at her doubtfully before swinging up onto the palomino’s back. 

“Jeez, this is really high up,” he said, gripping the sides of the saddle unsteadily.

“Lee, hold onto the back of my seat.” Emile looked behind her at the unsteady boy. He was so close to her, after last years Hogsmeade mess up it was slightly uncomfortable. But now wasn’t the time to think about that. 

“I don’t really feel comfortable doing that,” he muttered, obviously thinking about that Hogsmeade trip.

“Lee either hold onto the seat or my waist,” Emile snapped at her friend, losing patience. When he made no effort to do either she decided he needed a bit of encouragement, and gave Nepeta a gentle kick in her side, loosening the reins in her hands. 

Lee gave a startled shout and grabbed Emile’s waist as the horse shot forward, galloping across the lawn of the manor towards the familiar horse trail through the woods.

“Em-m-mil-l-lee-ee!” Lee shouted into her ear as they drew nearer to the woods. She laughed as she pulled on the reins, slowing Nepeta down to a trot. Lee had his arms wrapped a bit too tightly around her, but he loosened his grip slightly as they entered the lush forest that surrounded the manor. 

After five minutes of riding he leaned forward till he was right by Emile’s ear.

“How much of these woods is there?” he asked, his chin resting on her shoulder.

“Well, the Diggory’s own five acres of land. Even I haven’t explored all of it. We aren’t really allowed past the lake with the meadow.” Emile called back to him, turning her head slightly. 

As they followed the trail, Lee began to relax more, his hands slowly loosening from Emile’s waist till he just took them off and placed them on the back of her seat. She felt a knot in her stomach she hadn’t even known was there loosen as he did that, and felt like slapping herself for that. There was no need. No need at all. 

Soon the sun began to set and Emile turned Nepeta around and they headed back to the manor. Halfway there they ran into Cedric on his horse, a large black thoroughbred named Cygnus. 

“Where were you two? Snogging by the lake?” He asked, winking at Emile.

“Unfortunately, your cousin likes to play hard to get,” Lee replied teasingly, tickling Emile in the rib. She let out an involuntary spasm, kicking Nepeta a bit too hard in the side. Lee almost fell off the horse as Nepeta galloped away, leaving Cedric behind them.

Emile smiled evilly as Lee screamed behind her to slow down. She didn’t slow for a good five minutes, when Nepeta was nearing the manor. As Lee struggled to catch his breath behind her, they trotted out of the woods, slowing to a halt in front of the stables where the stable boy, Darren, took over Nepeta. 

As the two of them walked up to the house, Lee’s father came out of the house and waited by the door for them. 

“Lee, where have you been?” he asked as they drew near.

“Sorry, dad,” Lee looked away from his father. “Emile just wanted to show me her horse and the land around the manor.”

“Oh, so this is the Emile you’ve told me so much about.” Mr. Jordan bowed. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Jordan.” Emile made eye contact with Lee as she curtsied in her dirt stained pants, trying hard not to laugh. “If you two will excuse me, I will retire to my chambers for the night.”

“Retire to my-” Lee broke off mid sentence, he was laughing too hard to pay much attention. 

“Good day, gentlemen.” Emile walked away from the pair of them trying hard not to laugh along with Lee. His father was staring at his son with a look of disapproval. 

As Emile entered her room she found a surprise in there waiting for her. On her bed there was a fancy looking white nightgown. Emile sighed as she took the nightgown with her down the hall to the showers. Mrs. Diggory always liked to make sure she dressed formally when important guests were present, even at times when they most likely wouldn’t see her.

With a sigh, Emile turned on the hot water and prepared for an uneventful evening. 

The next day, Emile didn’t get much of a chance to talk with Lee. Mrs. Diggory needed help in the kitchen preparing food for the summer gala, outside decorating the yard, and in the house preparing the sitting rooms and guest rooms. Adult witches and wizards often had too much firewhiskey and were forced to spend the night at the manor, though the pancake breakfast the next morning was worth the hangover. 

As 5 o’clock drew near, Emile was sent to prepare for the gala. She put her hair in its usual messy bun (anything to make Mrs. Diggory angry), and put on her short backless sundress. It was black and had a pattern of white wildflowers on it. As she strapped on her thin strapped black sandals her door creaked open. Emile looked up to see Lee standing in front of her in skinny jeans and a button up shirt and tie.   
“Hey,” he said as he leaned against the doorframe.

“Do they want me down there already?” Emile asked as she stood up, taking one last look in the mirror.

“Yes, Mrs. Diggory insisted that I come to escort you down to the hall.”

Emile laughed. “How very thoughtful of her. Always trying to set me up with the young men at her gala’s.”

Lee raised his eyebrows at Emile.

“She just wants to make sure I’ll be out of her hair as soon as I graduate.” Emile rolled her eyes as she walked over to Lee, who offered her his arm.

“Shall we?” 

“We shall.” Emile smiled as she took his arm and headed down the hall to the dining room. Once they had entered Mr. Diggory directed them to their seats, Emile sitting to the right of Cedric and to the left of Lee. 

Throughout the meal they talked about nothing and everything, laughing whenever Mrs. Diggory looked over to check up on them. Emile told Lee all about the past three years of boys Mrs. Diggory had attempted to get Emile to converse with, each one more boring than the last.

Soon dinner was finished and the dancing began outside in the garden, the Minister of Magic being one of the first out on the dance floor. As Lee and Emile sat in the corner laughing at Cedric, who was dancing across the lawn with lady after lady, Mrs. Diggory came up and ushered them out onto the dance floor. Together, they made her regret that decision as the pair danced like no one was watching, the awkward events of last years Hogsmeade weekend long forgotten. 


	10. Diagon Alley

A few weeks after the gala Emile received her Hogwarts letter. Inside was her Hogwarts train ticket along with a note telling her to be at the station by 11 o’clock September first and a list of the school supplies each fourth year was required to have. Surprisingly enough, this year everyone was required to have an entire set of famous author Gilderoy Lockheart's books. 

Hardly an hour had passed before there was a familiar slam on Emile’s window. As she let Errol hop in and drink from the bowl of water she kept perched on her windowsill, he dropped a scroll into her hand. 

_ Dear Emile, _

_ We just got our school letters, have you seen this list? I bet the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is a witch. _

_ Anyways, we’re going to Diagon Alley next wednesday to pick up our school supplies. Mom is writing a letter right now to ask if you can go with us and then spend the rest of vacation here. _

_ -George Weasley and also Fred but George is the one who wrote this Fred please just let me send it already _

Emile smiled and wrote out a quick response that she mailed back with Errol once he had rested a bit, feeling both nervous and excited.

She went over to her closet to try on her robes to see if they still fit. They did not. Had she really grown that much? As Emile changed back into her usual shorts and t-shirt there was a knock on her door. 

“Come in!” Emile called out, expecting either Mr. or Mrs. Diggory to come in and free her. She didn’t expect Cedric to come in, smiling.

“Hey, Em,” he said as he sat down on her bed.

“Cedric.” Emile gave him a nod.

“You got your letter I see.” He picked up her Hogwarts letter, scanning it over. “Who do you suppose the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is?”

“How would I know?” Emile snapped as she took her letter away from him.

Cedric let out a sigh. “Look I’m trying to be nice, but if you’re going to to be too stubborn to listen I’ll just leave.”

“I’m going to be too stubborn?” Emile gawked at her cousin. “How dare you! You’ve been ignoring me all school year then you come home and act like everything can just go back to normal?”

“I wasn’t ig-”

“Yes, you were, Cedric. And even when you weren’t, I can’t stand you! You become a completely different person at school: someone arrogant, rude, and completely full of himself. You walk around with your posse of friends thinking you’re so cool, but guess what Mister? You’re not. Don’t come near me. Don’t speak to me. Don’t even look at me.” Emile heard a gasp from the door and looked up to find Mr. Diggory waiting, a crumpled piece of paper in his hand.

“Emile Victoria Gorska,” he began, his face turning red.

“No, it’s ok.”

Both Emile and Mr. Diggory turned to Cedric, surprised, as he spoke up from where he was standing.

“Dad, don’t yell at Emile, she’s right. I deserved that.” Cedric stood up and walked over to Mr. Diggory. “Did you need me for something?”

“No, nothing from you, my dear boy. I simply came to tell Emile that she has been invited to spend the remainder of her vacation at the Weasley’s, starting next Tuesday evening.” Mr Diggory looked from Emile to Cedric and back again as he spoke, obviously surprised at what he had just seen. 

The following Tuesday, Emile had her trunk packed with everything for the school year. She dragged it down the hall to the front door, setting Carrot’s cage on top, and waited for Mr. Diggory to return from work.

She stared across the room in the mirror and critiqued her wardrobe of the day. She was wearing her usual shorts and a black tank top, and had wrapped her red flannel around her waist. Her hair was in its usual messy bun and her glasses sat slightly crooked on her nose. 

As stared at her reflection, lost in thought, Mr. Diggory came tumbling out of the fireplace, a grim expression on his face.

“How did it go?” Emile asked, prepared for the worst.

“Not well.” Uncle Diggory sighed as he sat down on her trunk next to her. “He’s been sentenced to six years.” 

Emile swallowed back her tears as she thought about her father. He had caused a major accident whilst drunk driving, killing several people. And now he was in jail. For six years. He wouldn’t be back until after she graduated from Hogwarts. That was a really long time. 

“You will always be welcome here Emile, but I understand if you want to get your own place or spend holidays at another family's home.” Mr Diggory put his arm around Emile and she smiled weakly. 

“Now there Uncle Amos you can’t get rid of me that easily,” she said weakly, getting up. He smiled and handed her Carrot’s cage before taking her trunk.

“Do you intend to show up barefoot?” He asked her, smiling as Emile turned red. She quickly pulled on her high tops, not bothering to tie the laces since they weren’t going very far.

“Now, we’re going to travel there by floo powder,” he said as they walked over to the fireplace. “You’ve traveled this way before, so just make sure you say “the Burrow” as your destination.” 

Emile nodded and held on tightly to Carrot’s cage. She took a handful of the green dust and threw it into the fire, shouting “The Burrow!” as she stepped through. After a moment of dizzying spinning she stumbled out of a fireplace into an unfamiliar room, coughing from the soot.

“Emile!” Two familiar voices sounded in front of her as she opened her eyes. She couldn’t see anything. Someone laughed at took her glasses off of her head.

“Hey, I can’t see you know.” Emile stood up and stood up shakily, wobbling around the room. Someone, sounded like Fred, laughed and her glasses were put back on her nose, clean. 

Emile blinked as her eyes came into focus on the people in front of her. 

“Fred, George!” She said as she hugged the two of them. “I missed you guys!”

A bout of coughing and a loud thump behind Emile announced the arrival of Mr. Diggory. 

“Amos!” Came a shout as someone came running into the room. A tall, red haired man in work robes similar to Mr. Diggory’s.

“Good to see you Arthur,” Mr. Diggory shook hands with him. “Just came to drop off Emile’s trunk and to make sure she got here alright. I’ll be heading back now.”

“Oh, come now Amos, won’t you stay for a spot of tea?”

“I’m afraid I can’t, my wife is expecting me for dinner.” Uncle Diggory gave Emile a hug before disapparating.

“So, you must be Emile,” the man turned to her, smiling. “Arthur Weasley.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Weasley,” Emile said as she shook his hand, smiling.

He let out a laugh. “I do say my dear you are much nicer than these two made you out to be. Perhaps Percy was telling the truth after all.”

Emile gave the twins an inquiring look as they laughed. 

“Come on then, Em,” Fred winked at her.

“We’ve got to show you around.” George took her by the arm and lead her out of the room.

“I’ll put your trunk and pet in Ginny’s room!” Mr. Weasley called after them as the twins dragged Emile out of the sitting room and up a flight of stairs. They dragged her into one of the rooms, an average sized bedroom with a bunk bed, closet, and colossal mess occupying the entirety of the floor. 

“How can you live in this mess?” Emile asked, her jaw dropping. The twins simply laughed and waded through the clothes, books and various other items to the bed, where the gestured for Emile to join them. 

When Emile refused to cross the room, George waltzed over, picked her up, and carried her bridal style to the bed. Fred wolf whistled as she was dumped unceremoniously onto the mattress and she punched him in the arm. This was going to be a fun few weeks.

The following morning, Mrs. Weasley woke Emile and Ginny bright and early. Emile had a fun time pretending to be well rested when in reality she had gotten three hours of sleep. Fred and George had snuck her outside after Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had gone to bed, and the three of them had stayed up incredibly late talking about everything and nothing. 

Emile and Ginny quickly got dressed, Emile in her skinny jeans and a white blouse. She quickly pulled on mismatched socks before following Ginny down the stairs and into the kitchen.

“Good morning, Emile.” Fred smiled at her. “Sleep well?”

Emile rolled her eyes, smiling at the redhead.

After a quick breakfast of half a dozen bacon sandwiches each, they pulled on their coats and lined up by the fireplace.  Mrs. Weasley took a flower pot off the kitchen mantelpiece and peered inside. 

“We’re running low, Arthur,” she sighed. “We’ll have to buy some more today… Ah well, guests first! After you, Harry dear!” 

And she offered him the flowerpot. 

Harry stared at them all watching him. 

“W-what am I supposed to do?” he stammered. 

“He’s never traveled by Floo powder,” said Ron suddenly. “Sorry, Harry, I forgot.”

“Never?” said Mr. Weasley. “But how did you get to Diagon Alley to buy your school things last year?” 

“I went on the Underground —” 

“Really?” said Mr. Weasley eagerly. “Were there escapators? How exactly —” 

“Not now, Arthur,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Floo powder is a lot quicker, dear, but goodness me, if you’ve never used it before —” 

“He’ll be all right, Mum,” said Fred. “Harry, watch us first.”

He took a pinch of glittering powder out of the flowerpot, stepped up to the fire, and threw the powder into the flames. 

With a roar, the fire turned emerald green and rose higher than Fred, who stepped right into it, shouted, “Diagon Alley!” and vanished. 

George grinned at Emile before following his brother.

“It’s a piece of cake,” Emile whispered to Harry as she took a pinch of the powder herself and threw it into the fire, shouting “Diagon Alley!” loud and clear.

As she spun out of the fireplace, Emile couldn’t help but smile at the familiar sight of the bustling alley way. 

Once everyone but Harry had shown up in the meeting spot, Emile went off by herself to get new school robes while everyone else went to get money out of their gringotts vaults. Emile had already gotten the money she needed from Mr. Diggory.

As she entered the second hand robe shop she ran straight into Angelina Johnson.

“Emile!” Her room mate cried, enveloping Emile in a hug. “I’m so happy to see you, are you coming to Lockheart’s book signing?”

“What?” Emile stared at Angeline for a moment.

“Oh, I guess not. But it was good to see you! You need to get a compartment with us on the way to Hogwarts this year, we have so much to catch up on!” 

Emile waved goodbye as her friend was dragged off by her mother towards Flourish and Blotts. It took Emile a while to find the perfect robes, not too big yet not a perfect fit. She had to give herself a bit of space to grow into throughout the year. 

On her way out of the shop, she ran into Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, who informed her about the whereabouts of the twins. 

As Emile entered Gambol and Japes Wizarding Joke shop, she immediately spotted Fred, George and Lee stocking up on all sorts of supplies. That is, if Dr. Filibuster’s Fabulous Wet-Start, No-Heat Fireworks were considered a very much needed school supplies. 

Once they had made their purchases in the joke shop, they went out to walk around some more, window shopping here and there. After a rather long stop at Quality Quidditch Supplies, the three of them walked by Ollivanders. Emile paused to look inside, admiring the neatly stacked rows of wands on the wall.

“Emily, I don’t believe we ever actually asked what kind of wand you have,” Lee realized as they walked away from the shop.

“Oh, well, I mean do you seriously want to know?” Emile looked over at Lee curiously.

“Why not?” Lee shrugged and the twins nodded. 

“Its 13 inch larch wood with phoenix feather.”

The boys nodded, but were quickly distracted as they passed Broomstix, the broomstick shop. In the window on display sat the new Nimbus 2001. How did Emile know this you may ask? Well it didn’t take a genius to figure it out when the name of the broom was carved into the handle.

“Hey Emile, why don’t you get a broomstick?” Lee turned to her as the twins ran into the shop.

“If I find one I like I probably would.” Emile shrugged. She did want a broomstick, she was just incredibly picky about these kinds of things.

“Oi, you two!” Lee called out to the twins as he dragged Emile into the shop. “Emile would be interested in buying a broomstick but she needs an expert's advice.”

“If you want an expert ,you’ll get an expert.” Fred winked at Emile. “Now what is it exactly you look for in a broom? Speed? Style? Something to match your outfit?”

“If we’re talking about broomsticks I like Harry’s a lot,” Emile said, walking over to where the Nimbus 2000 sat.

“Ah yes, excellent choice. But surely you wouldn’t prefer the new and improved Nimbus 2001?” George walked over to the display case and began listing off various reasons why it was better.

“No, I like the handle on this one better.” Emile cut George off, smiling. 

“Are you sure you can pay for this Em?” Fred leaned over hesitantly as Emile went to purchase her broomstick. 

“Well, Lee look at it this way, I’ve been saving up my money for the entirety of my life and now have a bit over eight hundred galleons.” Emile laughed as the three boys stared at her, open mouthed. 

“EIght hundred galleons and all you got us last christmas was hats and scarves?” Fred turned away from her, shaking his head in mock disappointment. “I just don’t think we can be friends anymore after such an act of betrayal.”

George laughed and Lee punched Fred in the arm as Emile walked up to the counter and made her purchase. The large parcel in her hand, the four of them ran down diagon alley laughing to Flourish and Blotts where they had agreed to meet Mrs. Weasley before the book signing. 

“There you three are, come on, come now it’s already started.” Mrs. Weasley ushered them into the line of mainly witches waiting for a chance to meet the famous Gilderoy Lockheart. 

Poor Harry was walking towards them from the front of the room where the famous author stood. Emile had to admit he was slightly good looking, but he was so old. She had a rule for herself, not to have celebrity crushes unless they were around the same age as her. 

Harry stopped by Ginny, who was holding a cauldron filled with school supplies. 

“You have these,” he said dropping the books into her cauldron. “I’ll buy my own.”

“He’s the new DA teacher,” Lee whispered into their ears and the twins groaned, earning them both a sharp pinch from their mother who was attempting to get closer to the author. 

“There you three are, what have you-oh hello there Mr. Jordan!” Mr. Weasley walked over to the four of them, smiling.

“Good morning, Mr. Weasley.” Lee looked down at his wrist watch and grimaced. “Blimey, I was supposed to meet my father in the Leaky Cauldron five minutes ago.” He gave the boys each a wave and Emile gave him a hug. “See you three on the train!” He called as he ran out of the shop. 

“So there definitely isn’t anything going on between you and Lee?” Fred nudged Emile in the side, winking. She rolled her eyes and shoved him back, but a bit of shouting by the entrance to the store distracted them. 

“Ron!” said Mr. Weasley, struggling over with Fred and George. Emile had no choice but to follow.  “What are you doing? It’s too crowded in here, let’s go outside.” 

“Well, well, well — Arthur Weasley.” 

A familiar man, Lucius Malfoy, Emile thought his name was, walked up to where Ron was staring down a short blonde kid. She recognized the two of them from the Minister’s Annual Christmas dinner. But if they recognized her, they gave no sign of it.

“Lucius,” said Mr. Weasley, nodding coldly. 

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear,” said Mr. Malfoy. “All those raids… I hope they’re paying you overtime?” 

He glanced over at Ginny’s cauldron as he spoke, the new Lockheart books failing to cover the secondhand ones underneath.

“Obviously not,” Mr. Malfoy said. “Dear me, what’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizard if they don’t even pay you well for it?” 

Mr. Weasley flushed darker than either Ron or Ginny. “We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizard, Malfoy.”

Emile couldn’t bear to watch this fight, she glance out the window and noticed a familiar looking man walking by.  
“Emile, where are you-” Emile didn’t hear Fred’s urgent whisper as she ran out of the store.

“Hagrid! HAGRID!”

The friendly giant turned around as Emile forced her way between a couple walking down the street.

“Emile!” He smiled down at her. “How have ye been?”

“No time to catch up,” she gasped. “Mr Weasley and Mr. Malfoy are about to fight in Flourish and Blotts.”

Without another word Hagrid made his way back to the store, Emile following in his wake.

“Break it up, there, gents, break it up —” Hagrid was wading toward them through the sea of books. In an instant, he had pulled Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy apart. Mr. Weasley had a cut lip and Mr. Malfoy had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools. 

“Here, girl — take your book — it’s the best your father can give you —” Pulling himself out of Hagrid’s grip, Lucius beckoned to his son and swept from the shop. 

“Yeh should’ve ignored him, Arthur,” said Hagrid, almost lifting Mr. Weasley off his feet as he straightened his robes. “Rotten ter the core, the whole family, everyone knows that — no Malfoy’s worth listenin’ ter — bad blood, that’s what it is — come on now — let’s get outta here.” 

“A fine example to set for your children… brawling in public… what Gilderoy Lockhart must’ve thought —” 

“He was pleased,” said Fred. “Didn’t you hear him as we were leaving? He was asking that bloke from the Daily Prophet if he’d be able to work the fight into his report — said it was all publicity —” 

Fred was angrily cut off by his mother and he made a face at her, receiving a consoling pat on the shoulder from George. Emile gave them a smile as they headed back to the Leaky cauldron where they returned to the burrow by floo powder.


	11. Part of the Team

On their last evening, Mrs. Weasley conjured up a sumptuous dinner that included all of Harry’s favorite things, ending with a mouthwatering treacle pudding. Fred and George rounded off the evening with a display of Filibuster fireworks; they filled the kitchen with red and blue stars that bounced from ceiling to wall for at least half an hour. Then it was time for a last mug of hot chocolate and bed. 

Emile lay in bed, smiling. She hadn’t told anyone it was her birthday today and she didn’t intend to. She hated her birthday. She hadn’t celebrated it since she was four. 

It took a long while to get started next morning. They were up at dawn, but somehow they still seemed to have a great deal to do. Mrs. Weasley dashed about in a bad mood looking for spare socks and quills; people kept colliding on the stairs, half-dressed with bits of toast in their hands; and Mr. Weasley nearly broke his neck, tripping over a stray chicken as he crossed the yard carrying Ginny’s trunk to the car. 

Emile couldn’t see how nine people, seven large trunks, two owls, and two rats were going to fit into one small Ford Anglia. 

“Not a word to Molly,” he whispered to Harry and Emile as he opened the trunk and showed him how it had been magically expanded so that the luggage fitted easily. They grinned at each other then winked up at Mr. Weasley. 

When at last they were all in the car, Mrs. Weasley glanced into the back seat, where Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Percy were all sitting comfortably side by side, and said, “Muggles do know more than we give them credit for, don’t they?” She had Emile and Ginny in the front seat, which had been stretched so that it resembled a park bench. “I mean, you’d never know it was this roomy from the outside, would you?” 

Mr. Weasley started up the engine and they trundled out of the yard, Emile turned to look at the house as they drove off, wondering if this would be her last time seeing it, but apparently not.  George had forgotten his box of Filibuster fireworks. Five minutes after that, they skidded to a halt in the yard so that Fred could run in for his broomstick. They had almost reached the highway when Ginny shrieked that she’d left her diary. By the time she had clambered back into the car, they were running very late, and tempers were running high. 

The nine of them ran into Kings Cross with only fifteen minutes to spare. Five minutes before the train left, they were all standing around the column for platform 9 ¾. Percy crossed first, and then Mr. Weasley and then the twins and Emile. 

As the crossed onto the platform Mr. Weasley pushed them towards the train yelling for them to hurry up and get on. Emile passed Fred and George her trunk just as the train began to move.

“Hurry!” She yelled to Ginny, who was struggling to keep up. Emile grabbed the first year and tossed her on to her brothers before jumping on herself, landing with a thud on top of George.

“You made it!” George laughed as she got off of him, standing up. 

Saying goodbye to Ginny, the three of them headed down the train searching the compartments until they found Lee and Angelina sitting in one together.

“You made it!” Lee jumped to his feet as they entered the compartment, hauling their trunks into the storage. Emile took Carrot’s cage from Fred and plopped down next to Angelina.  
“We were beginning to think you had missed the train.” Angelina gave Emile a hug as Fred and George sat opposite of them next to Lee. 

“Do I get a hug too?” Fred asked, batting his eyelashes at the girls. Angelina took off her shoe and threw it at him.

The train ride up to the castle was much more enjoyable than last years. Emile showed off the hamster ball for Carrot and the twins set off one of the wet start fireworks. Angelina showed Emile pictures of her vacation to France. Lee and Emile told them about the summer gala and poor Mrs. Diggory. The twins yelled at Emile for not telling them she had a horse. 

They all bought some pumpkin juice and sweets from the trolley as it drove by and sat conversing and eating the food till the sky began to grow dark.

“Hey Emile, are you planning on changing in the compartment again?” Fred winked at her as George laughed at Angelina’s and Lee’s horrified expressions. 

“No, Angelina and I are going to go change right now so you best hope we don’t walk in on you.” Emile grabbed Angelina by the arm and led her out of the room.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” Angelina asked as they headed for the girls lavatory.

“I don’t think that would help.” Emile smiled at her friend, glad to be back at school.

After the welcome feast the Gryffindor fourth years headed up to the common room, Emile, Alicia, and Angelina had full intentions of remaking last years loft beds to sleep in. 

“Did you hear about Harry Potter?” One of the first years walking by was saying to anyone in reach. “Harry Potter and Ron Weasley! They flew a car to the school!” 

Fred and George immediately went over to the first year to interrogate him. 

Emile rolled her eyes at Alicia. “Boys,” she said, giving a dramatic sigh.

Half an hour later, they had successfully reconstructed the loft beds and had began to unpack their trunks. Emile had the same star covered cloth as last year and again she draped it over the sides of the loft to make a personal space underneath. 

Emile had brought her muggle radio with her this year, Mr. Diggory had enchanted it so that it worked on Hogwarts ground. She placed it on top of her cabinet, the top of it was level with the mattress of the loft so she planned to use it as a nightstand of sorts. 

As Emile was unpacking Carrots supplies a thunderous applause from the common room summoned the girls out.

Emile walked into the common room and grabbed Percy by the arm.

“Whats going on?” She called over the chatter.

“Harry and Ron have returned after crashing the family car into the whomping willow.” Percy frowned at where the twins were talking to the two heros. “I need to go talk to them, this is unacceptable behaviour.”

The two boys seemed to notice Percy storming towards them, seeing that they excused themselves and ran off to their dormitory. 

“I’m so proud of Ron,” a voice behind Emile sounded. She turned to find Fred and George standing behind her holding bottles of butterbeer.

“He might not turn out like Percy after all.” George handed Emile a butterbeer as he said these words. She took it gratefully and chugged down half the bottle, happy not to have Mrs. Diggory around to remind her to take dainty sips. 

“The things your aunt would say if she saw you now,” Lee echoed her thoughts as he walked up to the group. 

“I ought to go finish organizing our room.” Emile gave them all a hug as she headed up the spiral staircase with her bottle in hand. She was so glad to be back.

The first day of school could have started out better. Emile woke up late and had to rush down to breakfast without even brushing her teeth. When she entered the great hall everyone was staring at the Gryffindor table, muttering quietly.

“What happened here?” She asked Angelina as she sat down in her usual spot, grabbing a piece of toast.

“Mrs. Weasley sent Ron a howler. Poor midget looks like a ghost now.” 

Emile turned to where Ron was sitting with Harry and Hermione. He was dreadfully pale. Harry was silently staring at his bowl of porridge as Professor McGonagall handed out course schedules.

Emile grabbed her bookbag and walked with Lee to Charms, the only class they had today. She chewed her toast and nodded along to whatever Lee was saying. 

“Are you even listening to me?” He asked as they approached the door to the classroom.

“Mof Rellfy,” Emile mumbled around her toast.

Lee smiled and rolled his eyes, holding the door to the charms room open for her.  

Professor Flitwick spent most of the class talking about what they would be learning throughout the year. They finished off the class reviewing what they had learned last year. 

Emile left the classroom with the intention of going to see if she could check out the advanced potion book she had last year again. It turned out Professor Snape was teaching for the rest of the day so she would have to go check tomorrow. 

On her way back up to the common room, Emile literally ran into George Weasley.

“Found her!” He called back to his twin, who was running in the opposite direction from him.

Fred skipped over to the two of them and grabbed their arms, dragging them towards the moving staircases.

“Where are we going?” Emile yanked her arm away from Fred.

“We wanted to teach you how to play quidditch.” 

Emile stared at the twins.

“We aren’t joking,” George smiled. “If you join the team you won’t get so lonely this year.”

Emile smiled at the twins as they approached the fat lady, saying “wattlebird” in unison to open the door. She ran upstairs quickly to leave her bookbag and grab her broom, also pulling her hair back into a ponytail. The messy bun was a bit uncomfortable when she flew, it gave her terrible headaches. 

The three of them ran down the hallway to the quidditch pitch, happy to find it abandoned. Not many people would be out practicing on the first day of term. 

Since Emile already understood the rules of quidditch, they started out with simple quaffle passing. Fred and George were not the best chasers, nor were they super enthusiastic about the position, so they spent not even ten minutes practicing with the quaffle before they brought out the bludger. The three of them were equipped with bats and they flew around, hitting the bludger back and forth while laughing.

“Oi! You three!” 

Fred tackled down the bludger and flew down to where Oliver Wood was standing by the box containing the equipment. He was holding his broom and smiling at the twins. 

“Glad to see you two and Alicia practicing so early into the year. I’ve got a whole bunch of new strategies I’ve been testing out over the summer that I want to show you guys.”

“Sounds great, Wood.” George thumped him on the soldier. “Except we aren’t practicing with Alicia, that over there is Emile.”

“Really?” Oliver stared at Emile as she flew down to join them. “You fly pretty well.” 

“Um, thank you?” Emile looked over at Fred, who was smirking at her. 

“Would you three like to help me practice the keeper position?” Oliver looked away from Emile and over at the twins.

“Alright Wood, but you know we aren’t that good with a quaffle.” Fred winked at the sixth year and flew off, followed by his twin. Emile scooped up the quaffle from the box before flying up to join them. 

Half an hour later, Fred fell off his broom dramatically onto the ground, falling three feet down and landing with a thud. 

“Oliver, we can’t beat you,” he called up to the hovering captain. 

“Come on Fred, we can have Emile play keeper now.” George smiled as Emile yelled a protest. 

The next half hour was painful to watch. The twins were truly terrible chasers, but Oliver Wood was amazing. Emile attempted to block quaffle after quaffle, and actually managed to block most of them. She felt a rush of adrenaline she never felt while playing muggle sports. Every time she managed to block something the twins cheered loudly. Even Oliver seemed somewhat impressed. 

“That was really fun,” she gasped as the four of them headed up to the castle, foreheads glistening. 

“Em, you look like a mess.” George laughed and sniffed the air. “Although you can’t smell worse than Fred.” 

Fred looked like he was about to argue before he lifted his arm and sniffed himself, his nose wrinkling. 

“Alright you two, go shower. Emile will help me carry the supplies to the closet.” Oliver smiled at her as she picked up one end of the chest containing the quaffles. 

As they dropped the chest by Madame Hooch's office, Emile panting slightly, Oliver Wood was oddly quiet. 

“You fly pretty well,” he said once they had begun heading back to the common room. “And not just as a keeper, you make a fair chaser and beater too.”

“Oh, um.” Emile was unsure of what to say. “Thanks, I guess.”

“Would you like to join the Quidditch team as a backup player?” Oliver paused in front of the common room and looked at Emile expectantly. 

“I’d love to,” Emile wrapped her arms around Oliver. He smiled and hugged her back for a moment.

“Ah, young love,” the fat lady said behind them. 

Emile turned red as she let go of Oliver and muttered “wattlebird” to the portrait. It swung open, giving her a knowing look. She headed up to her dormitory to shower without another look at Oliver Wood. 


	12. Unnecessary Drama

As the school year continued, Emile joined the team for weekly quidditch practice. Angelina, Alicia and Katie were all overjoyed to see that she had joined the team, even if she was there just to replace them if they couldn’t play. The Slytherin team had received a generous donation of the new Nimbus 2001’s from a certain Mr. Lucius Malfoy, and Emile often joined the twins on spying missions to see how the team is doing.

“The Slytherin team was no more than seven greenish blurs, shooting through the air like missiles,” Fred declared dramatically during one of the practices as George made whooshing noises behind him.

Oliver seemed to never lose spirit during practice, but Emile had seen him in the library with a frown molded onto his face as he read over quidditch book after quidditch book. He’d even began to read over broom making books in desperate attempts to seek out weaknesses in the 2001’s.

One day when Emile was walking into the library to last minute study before a quiz, she literally ran into a furious Oliver Wood.

“I’m sorry!” She said, bending down to pick up one of the book’s he’d dropped.

“It’s not your fault, I just can’t find a place to study in quiet,” he said, emphasizing the last word as he glared at a group of first years who were giggling around one of the tables.

Emile chewed on her lip, debating whether or not she should show him her secret spot. She had forced Lee and the twins to promise not to tell anyone without asking her for permission first, but it was her spot originally, so technically she could show whomever she wanted to.

“Hey, I think I can help with that.” Emile grabbed Oliver’s arm as he began to walk away, gesturing for him to follow her. 

As they walked over to the corner of the library, Emile looked around to make sure no one was watching. Once a fifth year looking over a herbology book had left Emile slipped behind the bookshelves, pulling Oliver along behind her.

“So this is your secret hiding place,” Oliver whisper and looked around the space in wonder as Emile sat down on her bean bag chair. 

She laughed out loud. “You can speak in normal volume in here, we’ve charmed it.”

“Incredible.” Oliver stared at her as he sat down and took out his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages as Emile took out the battered old Potions book. Professor Snape had given her permission to use it again this year, much to the twins surprise. 

“You can come anytime, but please don’t tell anyone about it without asking me first,” Emile said after a few minutes of silence. “I kind of like having a little hiding place, I don’t want it to get too crowded.” 

Oliver looked up from his book and smiled. “I understand, and I won’t tell anyone.”

Thirty minutes later Emile left for potions with a small smile on her face. Maybe she could call Oliver her friend now. 

As she entered the classroom and sat down next to Lee he nudged her in the arm.

“What’s with the happy smile, horse lord?” He had began calling her by this name since their ride through the Diggory manor.

“I think I just made a new friend.”

“Really, who?” Lee looked at her curiously.

“Well, Oliver Wood I guess. I showed him the space in the library.” Lee grew oddly quiet after that, but Professor Snape soon entered the room and Emile forgot about Lee’s behaviour. 

As the days grew colder and October drew to a close, the date for the upcoming Hogsmeade trip were posted. 

“A trip on Halloween, I can’t wait!” Emile said giddily to Angelina and Lee. 

The three of them were sitting around the fireplace as they completed an essay for Transfiguration. Emile still had to read a chapter of Wandering with Werewolves for Defense Against the Dark Arts, but that could wait for a bit of bedtime reading. As boring and self indulging Professor Lockheart’s classes were, he did accomplish some pretty heroic deeds. 

“Do you have any plans?” Lee asked as he looked up from his essay.

“No, not yet. Though I probably should pick up some new quills.” Emile looked up at Lee momentarily. “Why?”

“Well, I was just wondering if-”

“Emile!” Oliver sat down on the sofa next to her before Lee could finish. “If you aren’t going on any dates Hogsmeade weekend, you should seriously consider getting some quidditch robes of your own.”

“Oh Oliver, like anyone would go on a date with me. But yes, I probably should.” Emile tapped the end of her quill against her face as she thought. “I don’t know where the shop is but I guess I-”

“You are getting ink all over your face.” Oliver laughed as he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the side of her beet red cheek with it.

“I can show you where it is, will you meet me by Honeydukes at noon?”

“Sure, I’ve got no other plans.” Emile smiled, her face fading back to its usual color.

“Great, I’ll see you then.” Emile smiled and waved as he walked off, turning back to her paper. She was unaware that both Angelina and Lee were watching her, their jaws dropped.

“Hey!” Angelina punched Emile in the arm after a minute.

“What? What did I do?” Emile rubbed her poor arm as Lee shook his head and began writing again. 

“What did you do? You just got a date with Oliver Wood that’s what!” Angelina stared at Emile as if she was an alien creature.

“Oh, you’re over analyzing.” Emile rolled her eyes before turning back to her essay. “It isn’t a date, we’re just friends. I hardly know the guy.”

“How can it not be a date, it’s a date, Lee, tell her it’s a date!” 

Lee gathered up his roll of parchment and walked off without a word. 

Angelina sat back in defeat and sighed. “Drama, it always starts in the fourth year.”

Emile laughed and gathered up her own items, having finished her essay. She knew it wasn’t a date, she would never date Oliver and he would never date her. She also knew that the rest of the week would be spent convincing her roommates of this fact.

That Saturday, Emile walked down to Hogsmeade in her usual jeans and a thick grey sweater. Her high tops were growing a bit faded and she made a mental note to acquire some more somehow. Maybe she could ask the Diggory’s for a new pair as a christmas present. 

She went to Honeydukes and Zonko’s with the twins and Lee, who was being awkwardly quiet around her, before heading off with Oliver at noon. They talked merrily about the town as they headed towards Spintwitches, the Hogsmeade sporting goods shop. 

The bell over the door of the shop rang merrily as they walked into the somewhat crowded shop. Oliver seemed to be a popular presence at the store, he soon grabbed a salesclerk to help Emile get fitted with quidditch robes.

“You look very professional,” Oliver said as Emile stood in the red robes in front of him. 

She laughed at twirled, causing the robes to lift up slightly.

“Much less professional,” Oliver said, his ears slightly red.

Once they had completed the purchase and Emile had stored the robes in her mokeskin pouch, they headed back up the busy street. 

“What are you planning to do now?” Oliver glanced at his wristwatch. “There’s still four hours till the feast.”

“I’m not sure,” Emile admitted. Part of her wanted to find Fred and George, but not if Lee was going to be a sourpuss. “I’ll probably go to the Three Broomsticks for some butterbeer, my hands are freezing.”

“Mind if I join you?” Oliver’s request didn’t surprise Emile.

“I don’t see why not.” Emile smiled at the scott. 

When they reached the Three Broomsticks, he made a big show out of holding the door open for her, and she thanked him quite dramatically. They sat down at the counter smiling and ordered two butterbeers. Madame Rosmerta smiled and shook her head as she placed the two warm mugs in front of them. 

Oliver had just told her a story about his pet cat when two familiar redheads sat down on either side of them. 

“Hello,” Fred grinned at Emile from the other side of Oliver.

“How’s the date going?” George asked shamelessly, causing Oliver to choke on his butterbeer. 

As Oliver finished coughing he turned to George, his eyes watering slightly. “You know I wouldn’t date Emile, she’s so much younger than me.”

Emile laughed along with Fred. “I would never date him, he’s not my type.”

“Oh really?’ Fred wiggled his eyebrows at Emile as she finished off her butterbeer. “What is your type, Emile?”

“I will choose not to answer that.” Emile smiled, paying for the butterbeer before getting up. “Now if you will excuse me i’m going to go to Rosa Lee’s Tea Bags to get some tea that I cannot find in the kitchen.”

Fred complained as she got up, but Emile left the three of them anyways. It wasn’t a complete lie, she was craving a cup of licorice root tea, but that wasn’t her reason for leaving. She didn’t want to admit to Fred that she didn’t have a type. She had never been on a date, never had one of those cute childhood relationships. She just didn’t know what her type was. 

Instead of heading up to the teashop, Emile found herself walking past Madame Puddlefoot’s, a popular teashop for couples to go and snog in. Katie Bell herself was on a date right now, As Emile peered in she could hardly make out the figure of Katie, her friend was practically glued to her new boyfriend. 

Emile wandered around on her own for an hour before deciding to return to the castle. She trudged uphill, wishing she had Nepeta with her. Her horse was back at the Diggory manor, she had befriended the stable boy Darren during the summer and had given him permission to ride Nepeta twice a week. 

As Emile walked into the common room, she took her hands out of her pockets and sat by the fire, attempting to warm them up. After five minutes, she became aware of of another presence behind her. A very drunk Lee Jordan was lying, passed out, on the sofa. 

“Oh, Lee,” Emile murmured, as she stroked his forehead with one hand. He let out a groan and made no attempt to get up.

“Emileeeeeeee….” He slurred without opening his eyes. 

“Lie still Lee, I’ll get you to bed.” Emile whipped out her wand and pointed it at Lee. “Levioso.” 

Lee’s body floated up into the air. Emile directed him into the air and up the dormitory for the fourth year boys. She opened the door to the dormitory and put Lee down into the bed not containing a homemade Weasley sweater. 

“You’re going to be fine, Lee.” Emile drew the covers up around him as he opened a drooping eyelid. 

“I love you, Emile.” He mumbled incoherently as she turned to leave.

“Yes, I love you too.” From her experience in dealing with drunks, it was best to simply agree with whatever they said.

As she headed down the stairs to her dormitory she passed the twins and Oliver, all of whom she ignored. Seeing Lee in a drunken stupor had reminded her of her father, alone and forced into sobriety by whatever prison he was in. Anything could happen to him in there. She knew she was overthinking and overreacting, but she was terrified. 

“Emile!” George ran after her as she crossed to the girls dormitories and ran up the stairs two at a time. She crossed the bedroom and drew the curtains to her section shut before lying down under her loft, drawing her makeshift curtains shut around her. 

Emile hugged one of her fluffy pillows and cried herself to sleep, feeling very overwhelmed by the numerous emotions coursing through her. 

When Emile awoke several hours later and lay in silence in the dark room. She could hear her room mates breathing loudly and when she checked the clock over the door it was past one am. Emile stretched and got up, slipping out of the dormitories and walking lightly down to the common room. Her eyes still felt hot and puffy, but she was very hungry. 

She walked quietly across the common room in socked feet. Emile closed the portrait door slowly to make sure it made no noise. She ran down the hidden passageways to the kitchens, quickly tickling the pear and sliding in. 

The kitchen was warm and friendly. The house elves were all either asleep or off cleaning the palace. Only one remained in the kitchen, hurriedly drying a small pile of utensils. 

“Kringle.”

“Mistress Emile!” Her friend was besides herself, tears of joy in her eyes. “Kringle has missed Emile much!”

“I’ve missed you too, Kringle.” Emile smiled down at her friend.

“Have you come for food? Master Weasley’s said they did not see you at the feast. They had leftovers saved for you.”

Emile began to cry again as Kringle went to get the food. She didn’t deserve such nice friends. And when Kringle brought out a platter of her favorite foods she felt even worst.

“Mistress Emile there’s no need to cry.” Kringle handed Emile a handkerchief. 

Emile blew her nose loudly. “Kringle, it’s just one of those sad days. I really needed this meal, thank you very much.”

Kringle bowed and sat down next to Emile, talking nonstop as she ate her fill. 

As Emile polished off the pudding, she turned to the house elf. “Could a large pitcher of water and an empty cup be delivered to Lee Jordan’s nightstand?”

“Of course, Mistress Emile. You are so kind to think of your friends, even when you are feeling sad.” And with that Kringle bowed and disapparated, leaving Emile to head back up to the common room on her own. 


	13. Intoxication

Over the course of the next few days, Emile was filled in on all of the rumors about what had happened halloween night. Everyone was buzzing about Harry Potter and how he had supposedly opened the chamber of secrets. He didn’t even know what the chamber was, Emile seriously doubted a second year who had been raised by muggles could possibly be the heir of Slytherin. 

None of her friends had asked her about halloween night, and Emile was glad not to be interrogated. Lee was talking to her again, which was nice. They often hung out at the library before quidditch practice. A big game was coming up and Oliver was training the team harder than ever.

The Saturday of the game, Emile woke up at 4am. After attempting to fall asleep she finally decided the best way to work off her nervousness was to go for a walk. After hastily putting on her Quidditch robes and a beanie she quietly crept from the dorm room and out of the castle. 

Emile walked down to the lake and into the edge of the forbidden forest. It was very peaceful here, under the pine’s that rustled in a crisp morning breeze and the faint sky that still had a few late stars out. 

Emile spent the next hour wandering the woods. She watched as a couple of birds woke up and began to sing, as a doe and her fawn crept out of a hollow log. With a sigh she turned away from the happy family. Why couldn’t she be a cute little forest animal? 

After a few minutes of watching a spider wrestle with the dewdrops that had settled on its web, she decided it was high time for her to return to the castle.  As she walked along the shore of the black lake she noticed a familiar scott sitting on a log nearby.

“Oliver?” Emile hastily approached her friend.

“Emile?” He turned towards her, frowning. “What are you doing here?”

Emile shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you?”

“Same, I guess.” Oliver shrugged and looked up at Emile.

“Can I sit here?” After a moment of silence, Emile gestured to the log he was sitting on. 

Oliver nodded and scooted over a bit. Emile had to jump a little to get on, she was a bit on the short side for her age. 

After a few minutes of silence Oliver spoke, slightly startling Emile. “Do you think I’m a bad quidditch captain?”

Emile stared at him incredulously. “Why would you even think that?”

“Well, we haven’t won the quidditch cup since I became captain, in fact we haven’t really won anything in awhile.”

“Oliver.” Emile rested her head on his shoulder. “Why would you even blame yourself for that. You’re an amazing captain, look at all the new strategies you came up with! I bet you’ll become a professional quidditch player after you graduate, you deserve nothing less. And it’s not like Gryffindor house hasn’t won anything, we won the house cup last year!”

Oliver was silent for a long while after that. Emile kept her head on his shoulder as they watched the sun rise over the lake, painting the clouds with shades of pink and orange. Once the sky began to turn blue Emile stood up and jumped up and down.  
“Damnit my foot’s asleep,” she said as she stomped it on the ground. “I guess I’ll head up to the castle for some breakfast.”

“I’ll go with you.” Oliver stood up and the two of them walked up to the castle together. 

It was still pretty early when they got to the great hall, but a few of the other students were already up. Emile sat down next to Wood and helped herself to a few pieces of toast and some cottage cheese as Oliver anxiously reviewed his pep talk with her. As she helped him alter his words of encouragement, more students began filing in, the twins and Lee included. The three of them sat down across from Emile and Oliver, Lee glaring at the quidditch captain.

“What are you two doing here so early?” Fred yawned and grabbed a few sausages.

“Couldn’t sleep,” they said at the same time, nervously smiling at one another as they did.

Lee rolled his eyes and George winked at Emile as the rest of the team sat down around them and ate in nervous silence. Once the clock struck eleven, they made their way down to the quidditch pitch with the rest of the team

“Slytherin has better brooms than us,” he began. “No point denying it. But we’ve got better people on our brooms. We’ve trained harder than they have, we’ve been flying in all weathers — ”(“Too true,” muttered George Weasley. “I haven’t been properly dry since August”) “— and we’re going to make them rue the day they let that little bit of slime, Malfoy, buy his way onto their team.” 

Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry. 

“It’ll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or die trying, Harry, because we’ve got to win today, we’ve got to.”

“So no pressure, Harry” said Fred, winking at the first year. Emile punched him in the shoulder and he laughed while punching her back.  

Emile sat by Madame Hooch on the side of the field as she prepared the teams for the game. When she instructed Oliver and the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, to shake hands the two boys appeared to be trying their hardest to break each other’s hands. 

“On my whistle,” said Madam Hooch. “Three… two… one…” 

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen players rose toward the leaden sky. 

As soon as the game started it became clear something was wrong. One of the bludgers had gone rogue and kept targeting Harry. With the team’s two beaters busy protecting the seeker from getting beheaded, the other bludger had freedom to do as it pleased with the team. When it stopped Angelina from scoring, Oliver called the team together.

“What’s going on?” said Wood as Emile ran over to the group “We’re being flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped Angelina scoring?” 

“We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from murdering Harry, Oliver,” said George angrily. “Someone’s fixed it — it won’t leave Harry alone. It hasn’t gone for anyone else all game. The Slytherins must have done something to it.” 

“But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch’s office since our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then…” said Wood, anxiously. 

Madam Hooch was walking toward them. 

“Listen,” said Harry, “with you two flying around me all the time the only way I’m going to catch the Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and let me deal with the rogue one.” 

“Don’t be thick,” said Fred. “It’ll take your head off.”

Wood was looking from Harry to the Weasleys. 

“Oliver, this is insane,” said Alicia Spinner angrily. “You can’t let Harry deal with that thing on his own. Let’s ask for an inquiry…” 

“If we stop now, we’ll have to forfeit the match!” said Harry. “And we’re not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger! Come on, Oliver, tell them to leave me alone!” 

“This is all your fault,” George said angrily to Wood. “‘Get the Snitch or die trying,’ what a stupid thing to tell him —” 

Madam Hooch had joined them. “Ready to resume play?” she asked Wood. 

Wood looked at the determined look on Harry’s face. “All right,” he said. “Fred, George, you heard Harry — leave him alone and let him deal with the Bludger on his own.” 

Rain had begun to fall heavily as Madam Hooch blew her whistle again and the teams kicked off from the ground. 

Emile leaned against the wall in an attempt to shelter from the drizzle as she watched Harry avoid the rogue bludger on his own. He was doing pretty well. That was until a bludger smashed into his right side.

“Harry!” Emile almost ran onto the field, but Madam Hooch held her back.

“Wait dear, he might be alright.”

Harry was not alright. One of his arms was dangling, useless, at his side. But he carried on. He dove towards Draco Malfoy, his good hand stretched out. Without any of his body parts controlling the broom Harry lost control and smashed into the ground. Thankfully Madam Hooch didn’t stop Emile from running over to her teammate this time. 

As she approached Harry, she heard him faintly mutter, “Ah, we’ve won,” before falling back onto the grass, the golden snitch in his hand.

“Emile! help us!” A shout came from behind her. 

Emile ran past Oliver, who was heading to Harry’s side, to where Fred and George were dragging down the rogue bludgers from midair. Together the three of them shoved it into the chest along with the quaffle and sane bludger. 

When the three of them turned around they were greeted by an oddly disturbing sight. Harry Potter was standing, his arm lacking dimension and hanging limply at his side.

“Good lord, it’s like a giant rubber glove,” Emile whispered to George, who smirked. 

Harry was taken to the hospital wing and Emile joined Angelina and Alicia, the three of them group hugging Oliver. Their captain was absolutely giddy with happiness.

“All that stress for nothing, ey Wood?” Emile teased as she bumped his arm playfully. He smiled and bumped her back. Their shoving competition was interrupted by Lee, who came up behind Emile and picked her up from behind as she let out a shriek.

“Congrats on the win!” He laughed as he spun her around.

“Put me down!” She yelled while laughing. Lee obliged. 

“It’s Wood you should be congratulating,” Emile put her arm around the captains waist since she was too short to reach his neck. “He’s the one who led our team to victory. Besides, I didn’t do much.”

“Emile, you do a lot more than you realize.” Oliver side hugged her for a moment before pulling away, leaving her with Lee.

“So, I guess you two are pretty serious, huh?” Lee looked at Emile, his face unreadable.

“What? Oh course not we’re just friends i would never-” EMile broke off and stared at Lee. “Please don’t tell me you’re jealous.”

“Ok, I won’t.” Lee gave a false smile.

“Lee, you’re so stupid.” Emile enveloped him in a hug. After a moment he hugged her her back.

At that moment, Fred and George appeared, their arms loaded with food.

“Come on guys, lets go cheer up Harry!” They called out to the team. 

Filthy and soaking wet, the rest of the Gryffindor team arrived in several minutes later to see Harry. 

“Unbelievable flying, Harry,” said George. “I’ve just seen Marcus Flint yelling at Malfoy. Something about having the Snitch on top of his head and not noticing. Malfoy didn’t seem too happy.” 

They had brought cakes, sweets, and bottles of pumpkin juice; they gathered around Harry’s bed and were just getting started on what promised to be a good party when Madam Pomfrey came storming over, shouting, “This boy needs rest, he’s got thirty-three bones to regrow! Out! OUT!” And Harry was left alone, surrounded by food, but completely alone.

“Now we had food delivered to the common room, so let’s go change and party!” Fred ran down the hall whooping and hollering. The rest of the team laughed and ran after him, eager to get out of their wet robes. 

Once Emile had changed into her pajamas she headed down to the common room with Katie, who quickly abandoned her to go snog her boyfriend. Emile rolled her eyes and grabbed a piece of cake and a mug of butterbeer.

“It’s been spiked with firewhiskey,” George whispered as she sat down in front of the fireplace with the rest of the team, who were all chugging down the drink. 

Turns out even a lightly spiked butterbeer has some powerful effects on underage wizards. After two or three mugs everyone was smiling, in a delirious daze. By one am everyone was completely drunk.

“Let’s play a game.” George smiled at nobody in particular.

“What kind of game?” Fred asked from where he had his head on Angelina's shoulder.

“Truth or Dare?” Alicia asked from across the room.

“I don’t wanna get up,” Lee smiled deliriously from where he was lying upside down in an armchair. 

“Spin the bottle, anyone?” Alicia held up an empty bottle of pumpkin juice. The boys all cheered as she placed it on the floor in the middle of their circle. 

“I call dibs!” Lee sat up and reached across the circle, giving it a big spin. His face fell as it landed on George.

“Come here babe,” George called from where he was sitting by Emile. Lee hastily walked over to the redhead, who grabbed the dark skinned boy by his face and kissed him square on the lips. Fred wolf whistled as Lee returned to his seat.

“Alright, my turn.” George spun the bottle, only to have it land on Alicia. The two had their own miniature snogging session in the corner.

Half an hour later George had kissed everyone in the circle except for Emile, the bottle hadn’t landed on her once.

“You’re avoiding us, doll.” Lee looked over at the twins. “How about we switch the game?”

“Good with me.” George turned to Emile. “Em, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Emile smiled at George, who still hadn’t realized she’d swapped her butterbeer with pumpkin juice. It was very fun to watch her friends enjoy themselves, but she was scared out of her mind of being drunk.

“You’re no fun. Alright, tell us about your first kiss.”

“I can’t tell you about something that hasn’t happened.” Emile smiled at the redhead. “Angelina, truth or dare?”

“Dare!” Her roommate said a bit loudly.

“I dare you to put your hands in Fred’s pockets for the rest of the game.” Emile smiled, glad that her friends weren’t sober.

Angelina put one of her hands around Fred’s waist and slipped it into his left pocket, resting her head on his shoulder as her other hand went into his right.

“Hmm,” Angelina looked around the group. “Lee, truth or dare?”

“Truth. I don’t want to get up.” Lee didn’t look up from where he was lying on the ground by the fireplace. 

“Ok, which girl on the quidditch team would you date?”

“That’s lame Angelina, be more creative next time.” Lee looked up at the the gal. “My first pick is you but Emile’s a super close second. I think she might surpass you soon.”

“Oh Lee, you’re just saying that because you’re drunk,” Emile said as she blushed across the circle from him. George laughed and elbowed her in the gut by accident, causing Emile to gasp.

“Ok, Fred. Truth or dare.”

“Truth, I don’t want to move away from Angelina.” Fred smirked at Lee and Oliver laughed much too loudly.

“What is the weirdest dream you’ve had?” Lee smiled at Fred, his eyes staring at no one in particular.

Fred launched into extensive detail of a dream about wrestling a pig that turned out to be Princess George, the heir to the throne and biological son of Queen Elizabeth the first. Emile found herself slowly dozing off and she put her head on George’s shoulder. She zoned out of the game as she closed her eyes and began to fall asleep. But that didn’t last very long.

A warm pair of lips was pressed against hers. Emile’s eyes flew open in shock to find Oliver Wood’s eyes centimeters away from hers. 

Emile shoved him away quickly, standing over him. “What the hell?” She asked, looking around the room. The drunk smiles were gone, everyone was staring at Emile in shock. Everyone except Angelina, who had began to cry.

“That was so cruel. Emile, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be sorry. Fred say you’re sorry!” Angelina weakly punched the redhead next to her, drunken tears streaming from her eyes. 

Fred stood up and looked at Emile for a long moment, opening his mouth, only to throw up on the floor in front of them. 

In the chaos that followed Oliver pulled Emile aside. “I kissed you because you aren’t the best looking and you’re kind of clingy. Just so you know.” With that said he fell onto the floor in a dead faint.

Emile stood by the fireplace, alone and confused. What had happened? Why had this happened? What was wrong with her?

The final thought echoed in her head as Emile ran up to her dormitory and into her bed in an attempt to hide from everyone and everything. 


	14. Making Amends

Over the next few days the people of the quidditch team didn’t talk to each other much. Those who remembered what had happened refused to talk about it, and those who didn’t were worried it had something to do with them. Lee Jordan wasn’t talking to Emile again, and Oliver Wood didn’t remember anything. 

News of the first year Colin Creevey being petrified had spread through the castle. Nasty rumors were popping up everywhere, so no one was particularly concerned that the team wasn’t talking to each other. 

Ginny Weasley was distraught, apparently she sat next to Colin in Charms. Fred and George were going the wrong way about cheering her up. They were taking turns covering themselves with fur or boils and jumping out at her from behind statues. Emile tried to comfort Ginny, but the first year had a habit of disappearing that Emile was insanely jealous of. The twins only stopped when Percy, apoplectic with rage, told them he was going to write to Mrs. Weasley and tell her Ginny was having nightmares.

Meanwhile, hidden from the teachers, a roaring trade in talismans, amulets, and other protective devices was sweeping the school. Neville Longbottom bought a large, evil-smelling green onion, a pointed purple crystal, and a rotting newt tail before the other Gryffindor boys pointed out that he was in no danger; he was a pure-blood, and therefore unlikely to be attacked. 

“They went for Filch first,” Neville said, his round face fearful. “And everyone knows I’m almost a Squib.” 

Emile put a hand on his shoulder comfortingly. The past week she had seen Neville in the library a lot and had grown a bit closer with him as they discussed herbology. He had an amazing aptitude for it. 

Two weeks before christmas holidays Professor McGonagall came around to see who was staying for the holidays. Emile didn’t sign her name. She didn’t care if that meant she had to go to the Minister’s dinner. Heck, she might even enjoy it for once. 

A few days later, Emile was lying on her bed watching Carrot run across a rope net she had hung up on the wall.

“Hey Emile,” Angelina pulled back her curtains and entered Emile’s section of the room, no doubt shocked at what was in front of her. It had been a while since Emile had pulled back the curtain surrounding her section, and for good reason too. The floor was littered with clothes and empty dishes. Half filled cups of tea sat on the wardrobe. A small pile of unopened letters sat in the corner. 

“Oh, hello Angelina.” Emile didn’t look down, just picked up Carrot and placed her on her shoulder. “How may I help you today?”

“This is creepy,” Alicia stuck her head in behind Angelina, her nose wrinkling in disgust. 

“Emile, I wanted to know if you would join us in the new Dueling Club that Lockheart’s starting.” Angelina walked over to Emile’s bed and climbed up next to her. 

“Only if you tell me what happened that night.” Emile sat up, crossing her legs and staring at Angelina. 

“Emile, we aren’t telling you because we care about you.” Alicia said from where she was still at the curtains, refusing to come in. 

Emile stared at Angelina pleadingly. After a few minutes her friend sighed and looked over at Alicia.

“I can’t say no to her puppydog eyes.” Alicia rolled her eyes as Angelina turned back to Emile. “Ok well from what I remember we were playing truth or dare, and it was Fred’s turn to choose someone and he chose Oliver. Being the rebel he was, he chose dare. Fred was very tipsy, Emile, he wouldn’t do anything to hurt you on purpose. He dared Oliver to kiss the last girl he would consider the worst date, and I think you know what happened next.”

“What the fuck guys, that's not so bad.” Emile stared at Angelina. “What, did you think I would get offended? I wouldn’t date me either.”

“Don’t you have a thing for Oliver though?” Angelina stared at her incredulously.

“No!” Emile laughed for the first time in days. “Oh my god you guys, I need to go find Fred and George.”

“Will you come to the club after?!” Angelina called after her as Emile ran down to the common room in her socks. 

“Fred!” Emile ran into the common room, panting. “George!” 

The common room was empty. Emile ran up the stairs to their dormitory, sliding to a stop in front of their door. She burst into the room, looking around anxiously. Lee was sleeping in the corner, or at least he was until she came in.

“What do you want?” Lee frowned at Emile.

“I need to find Fred and George,” Emile panted. “I need to tell them I forgive them.”

“Don’t you think you ought to apologize to me?” 

Emile stared at her friend. “Why would I need to apologize, Lee? Because someone kissed me? Because you’re jealous? No, I don’t think I need to apologize to you one bit.” 

A battered piece of parchment under George’s pillow caught her attention. As Lee attempted to figure out a comeback Emile grabbed the parchment and left the room.

“I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” Emile whispered, tapping the parchment with her wand. A detailed map of the school appeared in front of her, and Emile unfolded the parchment and searched for her targets. They weren’t in the great hall with the rest of the dueling club, but Angelina and Alicia were. Finally, Emile spotted the duo exiting the kitchen and entering the hidden passage. Emile folded the parchment and stuck it into her pocket, running out of the common room and into the secret passageways. 

As she turned in the darkness along the narrow path, Emile heard voices up ahead.

“Do you hear something, Fred?”

George barely had enough time to say the words before Emile crashed into the twins. She felt her glasses fly off of her nose as she fell backwards, bruising her tailbone as she fell onto the floor. She felt the map slip out of her pocket and onto the floor. 

“Lumos,” the three of them said after a great deal of scrambling. The light from their wands lit up the darkness, Illuminating  the blurry faces of the redheads in front of Emile.

“Merlin’s beard, Em.” Fred helped her up and stood there awkwardly as George picked up the map and looked it over.

“I just wanted to tell you that you, Fred Weasley, are an idiot and I forgive you.” Emile leaned forward and hugged the redhead as George laughed beside them.

“See Fred? Told ya Emile wouldn’t get offended by Oliver.” George rolled his eyes as Emile before tapping the map with his wand. “Mischief Managed.” 

“Now where are my glasses?” Emile squinted as she looked down the dark tunnel blindly.

“Are you a witch or what?” Fred punched her in the arm as he raised his wand. “Accio Emile’s glasses!”

The glasses flew out of the darkness and into his hand. “I think they’re a bit broken,” He said as he handed her the glasses. One of the lenses had cracked. 

Emile rolled her eyes. “Again? Oculus Reparo.” She put the glasses back on her nose, relieved to be able to see clearly again. 

As they headed back towards the Gryffindor common room Emile attempted to strike up a conversation. 

“So what were you guys doing in the kitchen?” 

“Actually, George had an idea to bait you into forgiveness by ordering your favorite foods and smuggling you into our room.” Fred elbowed his brother, who blushed, oddly enough.

“George, that’s really nice,” Emile smiled at the twin. “I had no idea I was that important to you guys.”

“Oh don’t worry, you aren’t.” Fred winked at Emile as she shoved him in the side. 

“Hey, has Lee apologized to you yet?” George looked over at Emile as they entered the common room.

“No, in fact he thinks I ought to apologize to him.” Emile shrugged, trying not to show that it actually really hurt to have Lee ignoring her. Fred put his arm around her comfortingly for a moment as they headed up the stairs to their dorm.

Once inside they three of them sat on the George’s bed, balancing the trays of food in between them. Lee wasn’t in the room anymore so they left the curtains open as they wolfed down a feast of roast duck, candied yams, and baked beans. Emile tore into a warm dinner roll as dipped it in the beans, receiving odd looks from the twins.

“My dad and I used to do this,” she muttered, smiling down at the food. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the twins exchanged a look and instantly felt like hitting herself. Why would she say that she used to do this in front of the twins? That was very stupid, she didn’t want them to worry about her. 

After dinner, they sat around telling jokes as they ate through a box of treacle fudge and sipped on pumpkin juice. As the clock approached ten pm Lee returned, so Emile left the group of boys to sleep. 

When Emile got back to her dorm, Alicia and Angelina were talking in hushed voices on Alicia’s bed. 

“What happened?” Emile walked over, unsure whether or not she should sit with them.

“Emile. Oh thank goodness it’s you.” Angelina grabbed her arm and pulled her onto the bed with them. “Ok, so we were at the dueling club, right?”

“Yes?” Emile leaned forward slightly, intrigued. 

“And so Harry was dueling that git Draco Malfoy.”

“Angelina continue don’t keep her in suspense.” Alicia snapped as her friend paused again. Emile frowned slightly, it was very unlike Alicia to snap at her friends. 

“Ok so Malfoy conjured a snake that was trying to attack everyone, and Harry was totally egging the snake on.” Angelina nodded sadly and looked at Emile.

“Sorry? I don’t quite understand?” Emile looked over at Alicia for an explanation. 

“In parseltongue. Harry Potter talked to the snake in parseltongue and it almost attacked some Hufflepuff named Justin.”

“Parseltongue? I thought that was a dead language.”

“No, it isn’t. Salazar Slytherin was a parseltongue, you know.” Alicia put her hand on Emile’s shoulder. “Now everyone thinks Harry is the heir of Slytherin.”

Emile frowned and looked off into the distance. She wasn’t sure if Harry was the heir, as unlikely as it seemed the facts all pointed to him. Harry was the obvious choice, a bit too obvious. 

The next day the news spread like an infection throughout the school; Justin and Nearly Headless Nick were now paralyzed and in the hospital wing along with Colin and Mrs. Norris. There was only one question on everyone’s minds, what could be powerful enough to paralyze the dead?


	15. Anon Hate

The double attack on Justin and Nearly Headless Nick turned what had hitherto been nervousness into real panic. Curiously, it was Nearly Headless Nick’s fate that seemed to worry people most. What could possibly do that to a ghost? People asked each other; what terrible power could harm someone who was already dead? There was almost a stampede to book seats on the Hogwarts Express so that students could go home for Christmas. 

Fred and George, however, found all this very funny. They went out of their way to march ahead of Harry down the corridors, often leaving Emile to trail after them as they shouted, “Make way for the Heir of Slytherin, seriously evil wizard coming through…” 

Percy was deeply disapproving of this behavior. 

“It is not a laughing matter,” he said coldly. 

“Oh, get out of the way, Percy,” said Fred. “Harry’s in a hurry.” 

“Yeah, he’s off to the Chamber of Secrets for a cup of tea with his fanged servant,” said George, chortling. 

Ginny didn’t find it amusing either. “Oh, don’t,” she wailed every time Fred asked Harry loudly who he was planning to attack next, or when George took Emile’s idea and pretended to ward Harry off with a large clove of garlic when they met. 

The day after term ended Emile had packed her mokeskin bag with everything that she needed from school over the holidays. Her dress robes had stayed at the Diggory’s manor so she didn’t need to worry about packing them. 

With a last look at the dorm room Emile grabbed Carrots cage and headed down to the common room to say goodbye to her friends. A majority of the students were going home for the holidays, so the common room was filled with people looking for their last minute things. 

“You can still stay you know.” Fred walked up on her left, smiling. 

“Yeah Em. Don’t make us shove you into a potato sack.” George tickled her from behind. 

Emile slapped his hands as Fred laughed. “Oh you guys, it’s better for me to get away from a while. Besides, I miss Nepeta.” 

“Please send as a picture of your horse.” Fred punched her in the shoulder.

Emile turned and hugged her friends. “I’ll miss you guys.”

They hugged her back for a moment before shoving her away. 

“Get lost, you.” George smiled as Emile turned and walked away, swinging her mokeskin pouch in one hand and carrying Carrots cage in the other.

The train ride to the station was boring, Emile slept most of the way in an empty compartment while Lee sat in the compartment next to her, casting glances her way every once in awhile. 

At the station she sat an uncomfortable three feet away from Cedric on one of the benches while they waited for his parent’s. Once Mr. Diggory popped out of a nearby fireplace, the three of them went off to Diggory manor for dinner. Mrs. Diggory spent most of dinner fretting about the state of Emile’s hair and telling her how a lady should not play quidditch.

“I can’t believe tomorrow’s Christmas Eve.” Cedric stretched as they walked to their bedrooms.  
“I can’t believe you’re actually talking to me.” Emile shoved him in the side and he shoved her back.

“Does this mean we can be friends again?”

“I just miss having someone to talk to.” Emile shrugged and waved goodbye as she entered her bedroom and got ready for bed.

The next morning, Emile got up at the crack of dawn to take Nepeta out for a ride. Her horse waded through a large amount of snowdrifts to the meadow by the lake. Emile spent a while clearing away the snow under a tree so that Nepeta wouldn’t have to worry about the cold while she went onto the lake to skate. The entire lake was frozen over, skating had been a tradition for her and Cedric for many years but he usually spent all day Christmas Eve preparing for the dinner party. 

Emile returned to the manor that afternoon with frozen hands and a sore bum. In the stables she had Darren take a picture of her standing with Nepeta before leaving her horse in his care. She ran over to borrow the family owl to send the picture to the twins before she headed to her room to prepare for the dinner party.

The moment she entered the house, Mrs. Diggory demanded she went to shower and change.

“I’ll be sending over a hairdresser to fix that mane you call your hair.” Mrs. Diggory shoved Emile into the restroom and closed the door behind her. A look around the room showed that once again Emile had no choice but to follow orders.

After a hot shower Emile stepped out of the bathroom in her robe, the stylist was tapping her foot impatiently.

“Oh darling you didn’t need to worry about your hair, I will be shampooing your hair.” The stylist grabbed Emile’s arm and dragged her to her room. 

For the next half hour Emile was massaged, scoured, shaved and plucked. Her hair was elaborately curled and her nails were painted ruby red. Several layers of makeup were slathered onto her face and she was handed a strapless, lacy red dress that ended just below the knee.

“I look ridiculous.” Emile stared at herself in the mirror.

“Hush now darling, you are pretty young girl.” The stylist handed her a pair of black heels as Emile complained. 

“What do I wear on top of this? It’s freezing outside,” Emile looked at her stylist hopefully.

“I am sorry, Miss Emile I was not given anything else.”

Emile sighed. “Well, thank you anyway,” she said as she turned and left the room, wobbling down the hall towards the front entrance. 

“Toes pointed, dear!” The stylist called after her. Emile swore under her breath. She should have stayed at Hogwarts. 

Several hours later, Emile was sitting at a long dinner table in between two foreign men around her age. Mrs. Diggory was across the table desperately trying to keep a conversation going between Emie and one of the men.

“So, you’re from Bolivia?” She turned to the one on Emile’s right.

“Bulgaria,” the boy said curtly, returning to his food.

Emile tried not to laugh at the defeated look in Mrs. Diggory’s eyes. As Mrs. Diggory turned to say something to her husband Emile turned to the boy.  
“I’m very sorry about this,” she said.

“It is alright. My parents want me out of home too.” He smiled at Emile.

“Don’t you get tired of it?” Emile laughed. “Mrs. Diggory nearly had a heart attack when she learned I was on the school Quidditch team.”

“You play Quidditch?” The boy leaned forward slightly.

“Yes, well I’m only a reserve but I don’t mind too much.”

“I play Quidditch too.” The boy smiled at her. 

The two spent the rest of dinner discussing their predictions for the Quidditch world cup two years from now, much to Mrs. Diggory’s both approval and disapproval.

“I think that Bulgaria will win.” He smiled at Emile as dessert was served. 

“Why do you say that?” Emile said as she took a bite from her christmas pudding.

“Because I am on the team.” He laughed along with Emile.

“But you’re so young!” Emile looked over at him. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am still in school.” He laughed.

“Oh, I feel so embarrassed. I don’t even know your name!” Emile blushed.

“My name is Viktor, Viktor Krum.”

“No way,” Emile gawked at the person next to her. “My friends are your biggest fans!”

“Well, your friends have good taste,” he teased, winking at Emile. “And vwhat is your name?”

“Emile, Emile Gorska.” 

When Emile left the Minister’s mansion that evening she was positively radiant. She had met Viktor Krum. She had talked to the Bulgarian seeker Viktor Krum. She had even danced with Viktor Krum. She was to be pen pals with Viktor Krum. 

Emile gave a small smile as she entered her room and kicked off her heels. Through her tired eyes she noticed a common school owl carrying two parcels at the foot of her bed. She quickly scribbled out a short letter to the twins before handing it to the owl to carry back. Then Emile washed off the makeup, put on her flannel pajamas, and fell into a long awaited deep sleep. 

The next morning Emile found a slightly larger pile of parcels sitting at the foot of her bed. There was one from the twins, one from Angelina, one from Cedric, one from the Diggory’s, and one from Mrs. Weasley. 

The first thing Emile opened was the bulky parcel from Mrs. Weasley. It contained another red sweater with a large E on the front, which Emile was very thankful for. She had outgrown the last one. There was also a box of treacle fudge, which Emile put aside to hide for later. Angelina had given her a broom care kit, complete with a twig trimmer and handle polish. Cedric this year had gotten her a thick grey beanie with a matching scarf, both of which had her name embroidered on them. The Diggory’s had obliged to her request of new black high tops. 

The twins parcel exploded at first, it was a box that had been rigged with a damp cloth and a wet start firework. Inside the box however, was a framed photo of Fred, George, Emile, and Lee. It was taken at Diagon Alley, they were all eating ice cream. George had whipped cream on his nose, and Fred and Lee were laughing as Emile wiped it off.

Emile smiled and hugged the photo to her chest. She missed those days. Before Lee continuously got into one of his jealous rages. There wasn’t anything to be jealous of, and if he liked her in that way he could just tell her and get it over with. 

Emile pulled on jeans and a black long sleeve shirt, pulling her Weasley sweater on over it and putting the new beanie on her head. She then grabbed her new shoes and headed down to the dining hall, where Uncle Amos and Mrs. Diggory were finishing up breakfast. Emile ran into a half dressed Cedric on the way there. 

“Merry Christmas!” She said, hugging him.

“And to you too,” He wiggled out of her grasp, blushing. “Merlin’s beard Emile, I haven’t got a shirt on.”

Emile laughed as he ran back to his room, continuing on her way to the dining room.

“Emile Gorska, a lady does not wear hats such as those indoors.”

“Merry Christmas to you too, Mrs. Diggory.” Emile curtsied to the couple before sitting down in her usual seat.

“Oh for goodness sake, it’s Christmas!” Uncle Amos bellowed. “Let the girl do as she wishes once in awhile.”

Mrs. Diggory merrily wrinkled her nose and returned to her morning tea. Emile helped herself to a stack of pancakes and crispy bacon, pouring maple syrup over the entire stack of food.

“Now Emile, I have three letters for you.” Uncle Amos pulled out a pile of parchment from his pocket and passed it down to her. “I believe one is from your father.”

Emile gingerly picked up the pile, looking over each envelope in turn. One was, indeed, from her father. Another was from the twins and the third was from an anonymous sender.

“Thank you, Uncle.” Emile folded the letters and tucked them into her pocket.

After she had eaten her pancake mess Emile excused herself from the table and went to the parlor, a large room with a glass ceiling and plenty of sofas. There were large glass doors lining one wall that were often open during the summer. 

Emile sat on her favorite sofa by the window, warming herself in the weak sunlight that reflected off the snow. The first letter she read was the one from the twins.

_ Em, _

_ You met Viktor Krum? Ron will be so jealous when we tell him, he’s in love with Krum. Oh, Fred says thank you for the candy. And the picture of the horse. He say’s your horse is very nice. Fred should just come here and write this letter himself. _

_ Fred here. Blimey Em, Viktor Krum! That’s a pretty big deal. Maybe you’ll end up married and have dweeby little quidditch playing offspring who never stop complaining. George wants me to apologize for that sentence. George is taking back the letter. Remember me! _

_ George here. You aren’t missing much, Hermione’s in the hospital wing. Apparently she was jinxed something awful and now has the face of a cat. But we don’t get to see her, so it’s not that exciting. Thank you for the muggle candy, some of this stuff is actually quite good. _

_ See you soon _

_ George & Fred _

Emile smiled and read the letter over again. She had no intent of marrying Viktor, she hardly knew him. As for the compliment about her horse, they would have to come over and see Nepeta themselves one day during summer break. 

With a sigh Emile tore open the letter from her father.

_ Dear Emile, _

_ I really miss you kiddo. I’ve sent you some money so that you can get yourself a christmas present from your father, who knows how much longer I’ll be around.  _

_ I hope you’re doing well in school. Merry Christmas. _

_ ~Piotr Gorski _

Emile read the letter over twice more, taking in every word. It sounded bad. She knew her father was being forced into sobriety in prison, and that no doubt would have taken it’s toll on his mental and physical state. The inmates there could hurt him. So much could go wrong. 

Emile sat on the sofa, thinking, for a long time. The sky had clouded over and a fresh layer of snow was dusting the ground when Emile realized she was really cold. Shivering, she walked over to the fireplace and put in a few logs. 

Taking out Mrs. Diggory’s wand, Emile pointed it at the fireplace and cried “Incendio!” The fireplace burst into life, crackling merrily as Emile grabbed a blanket off a nearby sofa and wrapped it around her shoulders. After attempting to get comfortable on the floor, Emile stood up and grabbed several pillows from the nearby sofas and arranged something similar to a beanbag chair on the ground.

After a few minutes she opened up the third, anonymous letter.

_ Emile Victoria Gorska, _

_We have never met, but I have heard much about you. I would prefer to remain anonymous for the sake of whom I am writing about. You’re a smart girl so it shouldn’t be difficult for you to understand what I am about to say. Please stay away from Neville. He has had a difficult childhood and knowing who you are would only make it worst for him._

Emile frowned as she read the letter a second time. First off, Neville was still a child. Second off, she knew all about what had happened to their mother and had no intention of telling Neville the truth any time soon. As Fred and George often said, she was a pretty good liar. 


	16. Valentines Day

When everyone returned to Hogwarts for the next term Hermione was still in the hospital wing. There were all sorts of nasty rumors going around about her getting attacked over the holidays, so students were constantly filing past the hospital wing trying to catch a glimpse of her furry face. Madame Pomfrey drew the curtains around her to spare her of the shame, upsetting several desperate students. After attempting to take matters into their own hands Fred and George were banned from visiting the hospital wing. 

After a rather boring Thursday with history of magic and double defense against the dark arts, Emile found herself with Fred and George in the hidden library spot working on an essay.

“Em, what in the name of Merlin are you using.”

Emile looked up from where she was writing out her essay to find George staring at the pen in her hands.

“That isn’t a quill,” Fred said as he grabbed it from Emile’s hand.

“No Fred, it’s a pen.” Emil swiped through the air, trying to get it back. “It’s an advanced muggle tool that has the same effect as a quill but you get less ink on your hand.”

“Oh,” Fred passed the pen onto George before turning to look at Emile. ”I want one.”

Emile laughed as George began clicking the pen obsessively in the background.  Reaching into her bag she pulled out two more pens, handing one to Fred before returning to her essay. It became obvious that writing in silence was out of the question as the two of them continued to click the pens angrily at each other.

“Oh grow up you two.” Emile rolled her eyes and smiled as she shoved the roll of parchment into her bag and stood up to leave.

“Wait, I’m done too.” George stood up and followed her out of the chamber, leaving Fred to finish the essay on his own. 

As they walked down the chilly corridor a weak ray of sunlight broke through the clouded sky, warming Emile’s black cloak.

“Let’s sit for a moment,” she suggested, walking into the courtyard and sitting on a nearby rock, George sitting down next to her. A group of first years was playing exploding snap in one of the unused classrooms, their laughter echoing throughout the courtyard. 

“I can’t believe it’s already February.” George stretched as he spoke, bumping Emile in the head with his arms. She poked him in the ribs and he let out an involuntary spasm. 

“I can’t believe Lee still isn’t talking to me.” Emile rolled her eyes at George and he grinned.

“He’s probably sad that you’re on the team now. No one's around to spend time with him anymore now that Wood’s got us all practicing every chance he gets.” George nudged her as he spoke. “Sound familiar to you?”

“Don’t be rude,” Emile said indignantly as she shoved him back. “Oh, did you hear about the next Hogsmeade trip?” 

“Yes, February thirteenth, right?”

Emile nodded. “They can’t do it Valentine’s day because it’s on a monday this year.”

“I bet Fred will ask Angelina.” George rolled his eyes.

“I wish there wasn’t so much drama.” Emile let out a sigh. “I wish it could be more like last year.”

“I don’t.” George smiled at her. “Last year you weren’t talking to us in February.”

That Sunday’s Hogsmeade trip was cut short by a certain Oliver Wood calling them together for a Quidditch practice that ended up running late into the night. Emile and the twins hadn’t had a chance to grab a butterbeer at the three broomsticks. They vowed to spend Valentine’s Day Evening toasting to their singleness, since they decided they were much too tired to do so after practice. 

When Emile awoke on Valentine’s Day she heard Alicia talking about Lockheart’s Morale booster for the school. Exactly what it was became apparent when the gryffindor girls walked into the great hall for breakfast. The walls were all covered with large, lurid pink flowers. Worse still, heart-shaped confetti was falling from the pale blue ceiling. 

“It’s getting caught in my hair,” Alicia complained as she ran her hand through her hair repeatedly, showering them with confetti.. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lockhart shouted. “And may I thank the forty-six people who have so far sent me cards! Yes, I have taken the liberty of arranging this little surprise for you all — and it doesn’t end here!” 

Lockhart clapped his hands and through the doors to the entrance hall marched a dozen surly looking dwarfs. Not just any dwarfs, however. Lockhart had them all wearing golden wings and carrying harps. 

“My friendly, card-carrying cupids!” beamed Lockhart. “They will be roving around the school today delivering your valentines! And the fun doesn’t stop here! I’m sure my colleagues will want to enter into the spirit of the occasion! Why not ask Professor Snape to show you how to whip up a Love Potion! And while you’re at it, Professor Flitwick knows more about Entrancing Enchantments than any wizard I’ve ever met, the sly old dog!” 

Professor Flitwick buried his face in his hands. Snape was looking as though the first person to ask him for a Love Potion would be force-fed poison. Emile grinned at the potions professor, laughing as he scowled at her.

“Blimey, it looks like Celestina Warbeck threw up in here.” Fred took a seat across from Emile, shaking confetti off of his bacon with a look of disgust. 

“I think I saw Ginny delivering a letter to one of the dwarves,” George mumbled around his toast as he sat down next to Emile. 

“I have absolutely no idea who that could be for.” Emile glanced over at Harry, who was running out of the great hall with a dwarf in tow. 

Throughout the day classes were continuously interrupted by the dressed up gnomes. Katie Bell received a romantic poem from her boyfriend, who in return received quite the snogging session during passing period. Emile was happy for her friends, who had all received some form of proclamation of love.

“No, it’s fine I really don’t mind.” Emile attempted to convince them during dinner.

“Emile, for shame!” Angelina put her head on Emile’s shoulder. “You don’t need to lie to us, you can admit that you just want somebody to love.”

“I’ve got Carrot and Nepeta.” Emile shrugged. “Besides, those dwarves look ridiculous.” Fred high fived Emile as she made the last comment, Lee turning red next to him. 

That evening Emile was heading back to the common room from the library after writing up a quick review for charms. Fred and George had told her to meet them in their room at eight thirty so that they could go get those butterbeers, and it was almost eight. 

“Emile?” A familiar looking first year came up behind her.

“Ginny, good to see you.” Emile smiled at the first year. “How’ve you been?”

“Everything is alright.” Ginny gave Emile a smile as she spoke in a somewhat monotone voice as she handed her a folded piece of paper. “I was told to deliver this to you.”

“Oh,” Emile took the paper. “Um, thanks Ginny I guess I’ll be seeing you later?” 

When she looked up the redhead had disappeared. Emile shrugged and unfolded the piece of paper. It turned out to be two pieces of paper, a photo and a sketch of sorts. When Emile looked a bit closer she realized it was a sketch of her. It was very rough but surprisingly good. She was sleeping in this drawing, a small smile on her face. 

Emile entered the common room and sat down on one of the sofas, admiring the artwork a moment more before looking at the photo attached.

“This bastard,” she whispered, standing up and running up the stairs.

“Lee Jordan!” Emile burst into the boy’s dormitory, her face red. Fred and George jumped up from their beds and Lee hid behind his. 

Emile marched across the room. “If you think that after three and a half months you can simply hand me some items that make me over emotional and sentimental then,” she paused in front of the cowering boy, “-then you know me too well. My god Lee Jordan!” Emile threw her arms around her friend as the twins cheered in the background. 

“Well mates, I hope you won’t say no to a hot mug of butterbeer.” George grabbed Emile by her shoulder and pulled her out of the room while Fred laughed at a smiling Lee. 

Once they were heading down to the kitchen George grabbed the papers from Emile’s hands. He smiled at the drawing of her, teasing her about the romantic implications of the gesture as she rolled her eyes and tickled the pear on the painting. 

“Four hot mugs of butterbeer and a small platter of pumpkin pasties to the fourth year gryffindor boys dormitory,” Emile smiled at the elves as George looked at the photo. The elves bowed and rushed off to complete her request as Emile grabbed George’s arm and pulled him out of the kitchen.

“So when was this taken?” George stuck the photo out in front of Emile, causing her to almost walk into a wall. 

“Give me that, you witless potato sack.” Emile snatched the photo from him, smiling at it fondly. “It was the morning after the summer gala, there’s always a big pancake breakfast for everyone who was too drunk to return home the night before.”

The moving, pajama clad Emile and Lee in the photo smiled at the camera and sprayed whipped cream onto their stacks of pancakes as a hungover Mrs. Diggory shook her head in disappointment in the background. 

“You’re going to have to invite us to the next summer gala of yours.” George winked as they entered the dormitory.

“With any luck there won’t be another summer gala for me.” Emile laughed and pushed him aside, running up the stairs as he chased her. 

The rest of the evening the four of them sat around on Lee’s bed, since it was the cleanest of the groups. Well, the cleanest they could all access. Nevertheless by the time Emile left Lee’s pillows were across the room and his carefully laundered sheets were covered in crumbs. But he didn’t seem to mind, he seemed happy to be part of the group again. 

Not that Lee saw much of them after that, a big quidditch game was coming up and Oliver had the team training every evening. The weather was growing better, and by the saturday before the game they had even come out of a few training sessions dry.

“You know, a negative side of the dry weather is that you lot smell ten times worst.” Alicia and Angelina laughed at Emile’s comment.

“Don’t be so rude Em,” George shoved her as Oliver and Fred gave themselves self conscious sniffs. 

“I’m not being rude, i’m just getting you all bulks of deodorant for your birthdays.”

“Muggle deodorant?” Fred wrinkled his nose at her.

“Of course, it smells much better than wizard deodorant.” Emile winked at Fred. “You’ll have all of the ladies chasing after you.”

Fred sniffed the air, posing. “I attract ladies just fine on my own thank you very much.”

“Please, put your arms down,” Angelina gagged and ran off to the girls dormitory with Alicia in tow. Fred lowered his arms as the rest of the team laughed and headed off to shower. 

They woke the next day to brilliant sunshine and a light, refreshing breeze. 

“Perfect Quidditch conditions!” said Wood enthusiastically at the Gryffindor table, loading the team’s plates with scrambled eggs. “Harry, buck up there, you need a decent breakfast.” 

“Oliver, you should know I’m not a large fan of eggs,” Emile wrinkled her nose and dumped half of her eggs onto each of the twins plate.

“Well you don’t need to eat, we don’t need you really.” Wood rolled his eyes at Alicia, attempting to make a joke.

The twins glared at Wood from across the table as Emile stared at her team captain. Fred gave Emile a piece of toast which she slowly buttered, staring down at her plate. 

When it was nearly time for the match Emile told the twins she would meet them by the field before heading up her dorm to change. Or at least that’s what she told them, she didn’t change at all. She simply grabbed her book bag and went to the silent corner of the library. 

One of the tables was by a window that overlooked the quidditch field. Emile sat down in the chair and pulled out her sketchbook, angrily making marks in lead across the page. Every now and then she would look up at the crowd slowly gathering at the field. Emile couldn’t stand watching the field and got up to go into the hiding space.

An hour and a half or so later, Lee Jordan climbed into the space and sat down beside Emile, who was lying across her beanbag chair. 

“So I take it you haven’t heard the news?”   
“Did Harry catch the snitch in two minutes? Did Oliver block every quaffle? Did Angelina score the most goals in Hogwarts history?” :

Lee shoved her shoulder lightly. “Don’t be upset, there wasn’t even game.”

“What?” Emile sat up, her glasses askew on her face. “What happened?”

“Another attack. Hermione Granger and a Ravenclaw named Penelope Clearwater, I think. That’s two Gryffindors down, not counting a Gryffindor ghost, one Ravenclaw, and one Hufflepuff.” Lee sighed and leaned against the back of one of the bookshelves. “If these attacks continue they’re going to have to close Hogwarts.”

The next day the school was buzzing with even more news, Dumbledore had been suspended from his post as headmaster. The school was doomed.


	17. An Ending and a Beginning

Summer was creeping over the grounds around the castle; sky and lake alike turned periwinkle blue and flowers large as cabbages burst into bloom in the greenhouses. Emile spent most of her time in the library, studying for the final exams that seemed to still be scheduled, despite all of the attacks on students. 

Oliver had apologized to Emile for the rude comment he had made before the nonexistent match. He blamed it on nerves, said that it just slipped out, that he was too anxious to realize what he was saying. Emile forgave him, they didn’t talk that much anymore and if he was attacked tomorrow she would probably feel terrible about it if she didn’t. 

Now that the curfew had been moved to six o’clock, the common room was often extremely crowded. There was often a large group of people gossiping till midnight. Emile hid in her dormitory if she needed to finish homework, but usually she was with the twins or Lee in the common room. 

Three days before their first exam, Professor McGonagall made an announcement at breakfast. 

“I have good news,” she said, and the Great Hall, instead of falling silent, erupted. 

“Dumbledore’s coming back!” several people yelled joyfully. 

“You’ve caught the Heir of Slytherin!” squealed a girl at the Ravenclaw table. 

“Quidditch matches are back on!” roared Wood excitedly. 

When the hubbub had subsided, Professor McGonagall said, “Professor Sprout has informed me that the Mandrakes are ready for cutting at last. Tonight, we will be able to revive those people who have been Petrified. I need hardly remind you all that one of them may well be able to tell us who, or what, attacked them. I am hopeful that this dreadful year will end with our catching the culprit.” 

There was an explosion of cheering. Emile clapped along with the crowd, happy to receive some good news. There was an aura of hope on the grounds that day.

It didn’t last very long.

Later that day, Emile was with Lee in the library when echoing through the corridors came Professor McGonagall’s voice, magically magnified. “All students to return to their House dormitories at once. All teachers return to the staff room. Immediately, please.” 

Lee turned to Emile. “What do you think happened now?”

“What do you think?” Emile rolled her eyes at her friend. Obviously there must have been another attack.

Since it was almost six pm, Emile went to take a long hot shower and retired early to her room to read a little. 

Two hours later, a loud stampede down the stairs caught her attention. Emile followed the crowd down to the great hall to find everyone celebrating. She had been to several Hogwarts feasts, but never one quite like this. Everybody was in their pajamas, and the celebration lasted all night. Hagrid turning up at half past three, cuffing Harry and Ron so hard on the shoulders that they were knocked into their plates of trifle. Harry and Ron scored four hundred points for Gryffindor securing the House Cup for the second year running, and Professor McGonagall stood up to tell them all that the exams had been canceled as a school treat.

“So what exactly happened?” Emile asked George as they sat watching the sunrise outside. 

“Harry and Ron found the entrance to the chamber of secrets, fought off a basilisk, and brought back Ginny. Ginny was the one opening the chamber, she was being possessed by the ghost of young you-know-who. Professor Lockheart is a phony whose memory spell backfired and now he can’t remember who he is.”

“Thats a lot to take in,” Emile said after a moment of silence. George smiled at her and nudged her in the side.

“You’re so cold, why didn’t you say so before!” He took off his knitted sweater and forced it onto Emile, who hadn’t grabbed her own sweater and had shown up in her black tank top.

“Come on, I think there’s some pudding left.” Emile pulled George up and they headed over to where a few remaining students stood around the tables.

The rest of the final term passed in a haze of blazing sunshine. Hogwarts was back to normal with only a few, small differences — Defense Against the Dark Arts classes were canceled, and Ginny Weasley was perfectly happy again. 

Too soon, it was time for the journey home on the Hogwarts Express. Emile joined Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny in a compartment for the return trip. They made the most of the last few hours in which they were allowed to do magic before the holidays. They played Exploding Snap, set off the very last of Fred and George’s Filibuster fireworks, and practiced disarming each other by magic. Harry was surprisingly good at it. 

They were almost at King’s Cross when Harry suddenly said something. “Ginny – what did you see Percy doing, that he didn’t want you to tell anyone?” 

“Oh, that,” said Ginny, giggling. “Well — Percy’s got a girlfriend.” 

Fred dropped a stack of books on George’s head. “What?” 

“It’s that Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater,” said Ginny. “That’s who he was writing to all last summer. He’s been meeting her all over the school in secret. I walked in on them kissing in an empty classroom one day. He was so upset when she was — you know — attacked. You won’t tease him, will you?” she added anxiously. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” said Fred, who was looking like his birthday had come early. 

“Definitely not,” said George, sniggering. Emile elbowed him in his arm and he rubbed it, still smiling. 

Soon they arrived at the station and Emile hugged the twins goodbye before going off to find her other friends. Once she had successfully tracked down Lee and Angelina, Oliver came up to her.

“Emile, I know this year’s been weird but I want to try to start over.” He handed her a slip of paper. “I’ll write to you, I hope you’ll write back.”

“Have a good summer, Oliver.” Emile gave a small smile as he walked away before heading over to the Diggory’s. She couldn’t wait to see her horse again.


	18. Summer

It had to be late July. Emile never knew what day it was during the holidays. All she knew was that the summer gala was in a week and she was going to spend a few nights with Angelina in France for her friends birthday, so she didn’t have to attend.

Summer had passed without many disturbances. Cedric often accompanied his parents on ministry related outings and left Emile home alone, which was fine with her. It gave her time to go riding. She had explored most of the Diggory’s land by now and had several favorite little hiding spots. 

Her favorite was by the river that pooled into the nearby lake. The river ran over a smooth rock shelf and into a pool of water, forming sort of a nature made slide. Emile had built herself a small tree house in a tall cedar by the river, with a little help from Darren the stableboy. He often joined her on her evening rides.

One morning as Emile was packing herself a small lunch to take down to the lake Mr. Diggory stopped her to show her the Daily Prophet.

“Look here, Emile! Arthur Weasley’s gone and done it! I bet they’re having a mighty fun time in Egypt, loads of fascinating tombs there to explore.” Mr. Diggory rambled on as Emile read over the Article he had stuck in front of her. 

Mr. Weasley had won seven hundred galleons in the Daily Prophet's galleon draw. The whole family had gone to visit the eldest brother, Bill, in Egypt. 

“That’s great, they deserve it.” Emile smiled and grabbed her sack lunch before Mrs. Diggory could come in and lecture her about what a girl should and should not eat. 

Fred and George hadn’t written to her much this summer, no doubt they were having too much fun to think about her. Lee and Angelina wrote to her regularly, and she had even corresponded with Oliver a bit. 

As Emile cantered away on Nepeta towards the meadow she couldn’t help but wonder about the upcoming school year. It was her fifth year, OWL year. How she did in school this year guaranteed her entire future. 

When they approached the lake Emile stripped off her clothes and dove into the cool water, relishing the feeling of the cold on her overheated body. Her blue one piece swimsuit matched her eyes, according to Mrs. Diggory. Mrs Diggory also thought a young lady ought to wear a bikini, to show off her womanly body.

Mrs. Diggory thought a lot of things. 

Emile spent the morning attempting to ride Nepeta bareback, sketching the various scenes around her, and swimming in the lake. After eating lunch she mounted Nepeta and headed down the river to their hiding spot. 

As Emile was fixing a leak in the roof of the treehouse a loud hoot behind her caught her attention. A large spotted owl was perched on a branch outside, supporting a battered looking great gray. Both were carrying letters addressed to her. 

The spotted owl gave Emile the usual Hogwarts letter, containing a list of supplies and a letter telling her to be at kings cross by 11 on September 1st. There was also a shiny silver prefect badge. Emile couldn’t believe her eyes. Her, a prefect? What would Fred and George think?

Emile felt like slapping herself. They would have to put up with it, there was no changing this now. As Emile folded the letter back up the spotted owl flew off, leaving a poor Errol to feebly flap over into the treehouse and sink onto the floor next to Emile.

“Oh you poor poor bird,” Emile cooed as she stroked the owl on the head. “They made you fly all the way from Egypt, you did so well!”

Errol allowed himself to be pampered for a few minutes before giving Emile a letter.

_ Em, _

_ Sorry we haven’t written much. You probably saw in the paper that we’re off in Egypt with Bill (who say’s hi) and the rest of the family (who also say hi). Ron used Errol to fly Harry a birthday gift, poor bloke must be exhausted after all this traveling. _

_ Egypt’s wicked, the old wizards here cast some gruesome spells that caused muggles to mutate when they entered the pyramids. Our favorite is the one with extra heads. Fred says to tell you we’ve eaten beetles and the only way you can beat that is if you try escargot when you’re in France with Angelina.  _

_ Mum say’s we’ll be going to Diagon Alley the last week of holiday’s, maybe we’ll see you there? _

_ ~Fred and George, George and Fred, George wrote this his name should go first _

_ P.S. Let Errol rest a day before returning, I don’t think he’ll make it back if you don’t _

_ P.P.S. Percy’s head boy. It’s unbearable. _

Emile smiled as she finished the letter. She would have tried escargot even without them insisting she did, it was on her bucket list. 

As she tucked the letter into her pocket a loud clattering sound sitracted her. Emile stuck her head out the window of the treehouse to see Darren sitting on the ground, building supplies scattered around him. 

“You alright?” Emile called as she jumped out of the tree.

“I’m fine,” Darren said as he stood up shakily. “I’ve brought the roof tiles you asked for,”

“Wonderful!” Emile grabbed one of the bags of tiles and hauled it into the treehouse. Darren followed her with another bag and soon they began finishing up the roof, working to the beat of whatever was playing on the muggle radio Darren brought with him. 

Well I think it’s almost done,” Emile said once they had climbed down to admire their work.

“Almost?” Darren groaned as he stretched his back. “You’ve been working on this all summer, it looks terrific.”

“But will it survive the harsh winter?” Emile glanced over at Darren. “I’ve ordered some glass windows to place into the holes that are currently there.”

“Merlin’s beard Emile, are you going to hook it up to electricity next?” Darren smiled as he began to saddle up Mr. Diggory’s horse, an American paint horse named Meeko. Darren often rode the horse to make sure it got excersize, Mr. Diggory didn’t have enough time during the week to do it himself.

“Wait,” Emile grabbed his arm before he could leave. “Will you take a picture of me in the tree house? I want to send it to some friends.”

Emile climbed up into the shelter, smiling down at the wizard camera as Darren took the photograph of her. She had a wizard polaroid, so the picture was quickly printed and ready to send. 

Errol settled down in one of Nepeta’s saddlebags for the ride back, Emile and Darren talked quietly so that they wouldn’t wake the overworked owl. As they approached the manor Mrs. Diggory and Cedric watched Emile closely as she crossed the lawn. They were having tea with a dark skinned lady in casual clothes.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Jordan!” Emile called as they rode past the porch. She had met Mrs. Jordan at the train station, and found her much more likable than her husband. He seemed almost medieval in comparison to her. 

“Hello Emile!” She smiled back. “Will you be joining us for tea?”

“Oh, my dear Emile must tidy up before joining us and you were just about to leave.” Mrs. Diggory stepped in, desperate to avoid interaction with Emile.

“I suppose you’re right,” Mrs. Jordan turned again to where Emile was dismounting Nepeta. “Lee says hello, and that he insists you respond to his last letter because you most likely forgot!”

“I will!” Emile called as she led Nepeta into the stables for Darren to take before heading off to shower. 

A few weeks later, Emile was strolling down the streets of Paris, arms linked with Angelina and Alicia. They spent their time shopping, eating, and visiting the various historical landmarks. On this particular day Alicia and Angelina had dressed Emile up very fancily, they were all in skirts and short sleeved shirts. 

“I feel very exposed,” Emile muttered to Angelina as a gust of wind blew her skirt back.

“Flaunt what you’ve got,” she responded in a sing song voice as they approached the restaurant at which they were meeting Angelina’s parents for her birthday dinner. 

When Mr. Johnson informed the girls they could order whatever they wanted, Emilie immediately informed the waiter that she would be trying escargot. He laughed slightly and mumbled something in french which Mr. Johnson laughed at before taking the rest of their orders.

Once the food had arrived Emile insisted that Alicia take a picture of her eating escargot for the first time, to prove to the twins she had done it. It was pretty good, though Emile had some difficulty scooping the snails out of their shells. The butter sauce was delicious. 

After dinner they went to a nearby cafe where they all had a delicious creme brûlée. That was the last night they spent at Paris, and the girls were up till three o’clock in the morning talking about everything and nothing as they watched the city lights from their hotel window. 

The last week of holiday’s, Emile got up bit later than intended and skipped breakfast in order to be at Diagon Alley on time. The moment she arrived at the leaky cauldron she bumped into Lee, and they went off together to buy their supplies. The twins were nowhere to be found, and after purchasing their books and some new robes Lee dragged Emile over to where the prototype of the newest Broom, the Firebolt, sat in a display case.

“Isn’t it amazing?” He gushed as they stood amongst the crowd of admirers. 

“That there is the best broom in the world!” Emile and Lee turned as a voice sounded behind them.

“Pity it’s just a prototype.” George walked over next to Emile as his brother finished his commentary of the broom. Emile smiled widely as she enveloped George in a hug before turning to Fred, who allowed one moment on hugging before he pushed Emile away.

“Now Em, don’t want people to think I’m soft.” Fred winked at her as she rolled her eyes. 

“So Em, fifth year.” George looked over at her as they walked down the alley way on their way to the joke shop. “Isn’t this the year people usually start dating.”

Emile felt her cheeks growing hot. “George, I am not going to give you the talk, that’s really a job for your mother.”

“Oh believe me, our mother doesn’t need to teach us anything.” Fred turned and winked at Emile as his brother laughed.

The group stopped by  Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour for some sweet sundays. Fred and Lee eagerly helped themselves to the strawberry and peanut butter flavor, while George and Emile got chocolate and raspberry.

“One of these day’s I want to try the earl gray and lavender,” Emile said as they walked out of the shop, cones in hand.

“Em, that’s a flavor for grandma’s and girly girls,” Fred said as they walked towards the leaky cauldron. “And you, darling, are none of those things.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you saying I don’t act like a girl?”

Fred laughed. “Definitely not the kind of girl I would date.”

Emile frowned and licked her ice cream slowly. That was three guys who found something wrong with her. What was it exactly that was wrong with her? She wished she knew. 

Outside of the leaky cauldron they ran into Mr. Jordan and Mrs. Weasley. After a quick goodbye Lee left with his father and the three left followed Mrs. Weasley into the leaky cauldron along with Ginny and Percy.

“Congratulations Percy,” Emile smiled at the newly appointed head boy as they entered the tavern. He smiled proudly for a moment before striding over to where Harry was sitting with Ron and Hermione. 

"Harry. How nice to see you.” 

"Hello, Percy," said Harry, trying not to laugh. 

“I hope you're well?" said Percy pompously, shaking hands. 

"Very well, thanks --" 

"Harry!" said Fred, elbowing Percy out of the way and bowing deeply. "Simply splendid to see you, old boy --"  

"Marvelous," said George, pushing Fred aside and seizing Harry's hand in turn. "Absolutely spiffing." 

Percy scowled. 

"That's enough, now," said Mrs. Weasley. 

"Mum!" said Fred as though he'd only just spotted her and seizing her hand too. "How really corking to see you --" 

"I said, that's enough," said Mrs. Weasley, depositing her shopping in an empty chair. "Hello, Harry, dear. I suppose you've heard our exciting news?" She pointed to the brand-new silver badge on Percy's chest. "Second Head Boy in the family!" she said, swelling with pride. 

"And last," Fred muttered to Emile under his breath. 

“I don't doubt that," said Mrs. Weasley, frowning suddenly. "I notice they haven't made you two prefects." 

"What do we want to be prefects for?" said George, looking revolted at the very idea. "It'd take all the fun out of life." 

Ginny giggled. 

“You want to set a better example for your sister!" snapped Mrs. Weasley. 

"Ginny's got other brothers to set her an example, Mother," said Percy loftily. "I'm going up to change for dinner..." 

He disappeared and George heaved a sigh. "We tried to shut him in a pyramid," he said to the group. "But Mum spotted us."

Emile left half an hour later after briefly catching up with Ginny and Hermione. When Hermione bought an adorable long haired tabby cat as a birthday present, Emile realized that it was her birthday today. No one else knew, but it was good to know she had survived another year.

As Emile tumbled out of the fireplace into the Diggory mansion, hands filled with shopping bags, she found herself tripping onto Cedric. 

“Oh, good you’re back.” He quickly helped her get up. “Are the stores still open? I need to pick up a few quills and a new set of robes.”

“They should be, I would hurry if I was you,” Emile said as she picked up her shopping bags and went down the hall to her room. She still had to finish packing her trunk.


	19. Back to School

The next morning, Emile and Cedric arrived at the train station half an hour early, Emile had already changed into her robes and was nervously pinning her prefect badge onto her uniform.

“Blimey Em I can’t believe you’re a prefect too. We get to go sit in the prefect’s carriage on the way here!” Cedric was babbling on next to her. She didn’t bother to point out that he wouldn’t talk to her anyways as they climbed onto the gleaming Hogwarts express and headed down to the prefects carriage. 

Cedric immediately went over to Roger Davies, a Ravenclaw prefect, and began talking about quidditch with him. Emile went over to a cushioned seat by the window and pulled out a sandwich she had made before leaving.

She fed some of the carrots she had brought to snack on to Carrot, smiling to herself.

“Cannibal,” she teased the animal, knowing fully well she couldn’t understand.

She stared out the window as she ate, watching familiar and unfamiliar classmates running around, saying goodbye to their families. Emilie watched the twins board the train, feeling a hole open up in her stomach. Would they still like her after they found out?

“Emile!” A familiar dark haired boy sat down next to her, grinning. 

“Lee! Are you a prefect too?”

Lee shrugged. “I guess I am. Percy better do a good job because if we’re the best our year can do, Gryffindor is screwed.”

Once the heads of houses had gone over the prefect duties and they had a little team bonding, the new prefects and heads of houses were free to do as they wished for the remainder of the trip. Percy and his girlfriend sat together in the corner of the compartment, no doubt snogging. 

Lee and Emile didn’t go looking for Fred and George. Emile made up a story of her ankle hurting so that her friend wouldn’t insist on going. She was still very nervous about what Fred and George would think of them being prefects.

As the sky began to darken the train drew to a startling halt in the middle of nowhere. 

“We can’t be there yet,” Lee said, looking around. 

The lights in the room flickered and the temperature dropped rapidly. Frost began forming rapidly on the train windows. The half emptied glasses of pumpkin juice froze solid. 

“What’s going one?” Penelope cried from where she was huddled against Percy. 

Emile was too busy getting Carrot out of her cage and into her pocket in an attempt to keep her pet warm to respond. 

Suddenly, the door to the car swung open, and a large cloaked figure spet through the carriage. Lee put his arms around a trembling Emile as it swept by, an icy chill sweeping over the room. 

Emile couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed at that moment, all of her worst memories rushing back in a flood of anxiety. All the times she’d had to deal with her father. All the times she felt as if the world hated her.

The memory that stuck out most was that of her fourth birthday. She remembered it clearly, it had happened on the same day as a family reunion. She had been so excited to celebrate with her cousins, until the adults got a bit drunk. Her father had gotten a bit aggressive and when she refused to get him another beer he beat her. She could remember the striking of his fists against her body as the adults attempted to stop him. Her arm was broken that day. It was also the day she found out why her father was a drunk. Her wizard mother had an arranged marriage with him, and when she ran off to marry a wizard it broke him. She left him with a two year old baby and a broken heart. What else could he do but turn to alcohol for comfort.

As warmth returned to the carriage compartment Emile realized that she was crying. She swiped at her face hastily as Lee got them each a glass of water.

“What were those things?” Lee asked Percy as Emile took a small sip.

“Dementors, they’re on the hunt for Sirius Black.” The head boy was frowning as he turned back to his girlfriend.

“Why would they need to search the hogwarts express?” Lee asked Emile, who shrugged in response. 

At that moment the compartment door opened and an older man walked in.

“Is everything alright in here? I’ve been sent to check and make certain everyone’s alright, one student fainted when the dementors came by.”

“I think Emile could use some help,” Lee said as he waved at the man.

“Ah, well lets see.” The man walked over and sat down in front of Emile, looking into her eyes. “You seem a bit shaken up, here.” He placed a chunk of chocolate in front of Emile. “This will help.”

“Thank you, um?”

“Professor R. J. Lupin, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher,” he said, smiling at them as Emile took a hasty bite of the chocolate. The sweet candy warmed her on the inside, and she let out a feebly smile at the Professor as he stood up and walked away.

Soon the train was rolling down the tracks again, and Emile and Lee moved over to Percy and Penelope. They questioned the head boy and girl about the OWL’s as they drew nearer to the school, Emile out of anxiousness and Lee because he had nothing better to do.

When they arrived at hogsmeade station Fred and George descended upon them with the wrath of hell. They didn’t mind too much that Emile and Le were prefects, they were just disappointed Emile hadn’t told them. 

“I thought you could trust us be now.” Fred shook his head in mock disappointment as the horse drawn carriages made their way up to the castle. 

“I just don’t think we can be friends after this, severe act of betrayal.” George pretended to wipe a tear away and cross his arms. 

Emile rolled her eyes at Lee and they laughed as the carriages drew nearer to the castle. As everyone waited in the great hall Ron told Fred about Harry fainting because of the dementors. 

“He said he heard someone screaming,” Ron frowned. “That new professor, Lupin, He chased the dementor away with some sort of charm. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You haven’t seen much little brother,” Fred laughed at Ron’s astonishment.

“It’s good to know we have a teacher who knows what he’s doing,” Emile said as the doors swung open and the first years came marching.

“Lee, we have to show them to the dormitory,” Emile whispered into her friend's ear.

“I can’t be trusted with so much responsibility.” He whispered back.

“Don’t make me do this on my own,” she shoved him as the sorting began. 

Once the sorting was complete, Dumbledore stood up to make his yearly speech. 

"Welcome!" said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard. "Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast...." 

Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, "As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."

"They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds," Dumbledore continued, "and while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises -- or even Invisibility Cloaks," he added blandly. "It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors," he said. 

Percy, who was sitting across from Emile, puffed out his chest again and stared around impressively. 

Lee put his hand over his face next to Emile. “We’re all screwed,” he whispered to the people around him. 

Fred and George snickered as Emile elbowed him in the gut and he doubled over, gasping.

"On a happier note," Dumbledore continued, “I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. "First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm applause for Professor Lupin died away. "Well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties." 

Emile joined in with this round of applause, which was tumultuous at the Gryffindor table in particular. Hagrid was often talking about the creatures who lived in the Forbidden Forest, no doubt he would make an excellent Care of Magical Creatures teacher.

As the last morsels of pumpkin tart disappeared from the golden platter, Dumbledore gave everyone the word that it was time for bed. Emile eagerly stood up and dragged Lee over to the first years, only to find Percy already taking care of them.

“Come on Em, it just means less work for us.” Lee grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the great hall. 

They hadn’t even turned the corner when a familiar scott ran up to them.

“Hey Emile,” Oliver gave Emile a side hug as they walked on. “Oh, and you Lee. I see you two were made prefects. That great, you guys can use the fancy bathroom now. Quidditch Captains get to use it too.”

Lee was frowning at Oliver as they walked towards the common room. Emile used all her willpower to keep from rolling her eyes at him as Oliver talked about his plans for the team this year. 

“Fortuna Major,” Lee said a bit loudly as they approached the portrait of the fat lady. She swung open, and the three of them clambered into the common room.

“It’s been nice catching up but I want to unpack a bit before going to bed,” Emile faked a smile at the two boys before heading up the stairs to the fifth year girls dormitory. 

Her trunk was sitting by one of the beds by the window. Emile smiled and whipped out her wand, getting to work on recreating the loft bed. It had grown easier to do this over the years, and was done in less than fifteen minutes. 

Emile drew back the curtains that now surrounded her section before moving some stuff around. The loft bed she moved right next to the window and the cabinet she put on its right. Her trunk she put at the foot of the loft before reaching in to unpack several items she intended to hang.

The first couple were these hollow glass balls in all the colors of the rainbow that you could hang from the ceiling. Emile had enchanted them so that a small flame flickered inside the. Once they were hung her area was very well lit and very pretty. 

Carrots cage was quickly unpacked and hung on the wall. Emile refilled the water bottle and food bowl before placing her pet into the cage, smiling as Carrot ran over to the wheel and began to run. 

As Emile unpacked her picture frames Angelina burst into the room, running over to Emile and enveloping her in a hug.

“I haven’t seen you in so long!”

“It hasn’t even been a month,’ Emile laughed as Angelina looked around her section of the dorm. “Do you like what I’ve done?”

“It’s gorgeous.” She gushed as she looked around. “I love the quilt you brought, it’s very soft.”

“Thank you.” Emile smiled as she hung the frames on several hooks in the wall. 

Angelina looked around for a moment more before Alicia came in, and the two of them went off to shower. By the time they returned Emile’s curtains were closed and she was fast asleep. 


	20. Hogsmeade and Halloween

The next morning Emile ate walked down to breakfast with the twins, only to be abandoned as they went over to where their younger brother was sitting with Harry and Hermione.

"New third-year course schedules," said George, passing then, over. "What's up with you, Harry?" 

"Malfoy," said Ron from George's other side and glaring over at the Slytherin table. 

George looked up in time to see Malfoy pretending to faint with terror again. 

"That little git," he said calmly. "He wasn't so cocky last night when the dementors were down at our end of the train. Came running into our compartment, didn't he, Fred?" 

"Nearly wet himself," said Fred, with a contemptuous glance at Malfoy. 

"I wasn't too happy myself," said George. "They're horrible things, those dementors...." 

"Sort of freeze your insides, don't they?" said Fred. 

"You didn't pass out, though, did you?" said Harry in a low voice. 

"Forget it, Harry," said George bracingly. "Dad had to go out to Azkaban one time, remember, Fred? And he said it was the worst place he'd ever been, he came back all weak and shaking.... They suck the happiness out of a place, dementors. Most of the prisoners go mad in there." 

"Anyway, we'll see how happy Malfoy looks after our first Quidditch match," said Fred. "Gryffindor versus Slytherin, first game of the season, remember?"

Emile helped herself to toast, sausage, and fried tomatoes as the group talked. She had had a weird reaction when the dementors came through the prefects car, but she wasn’t going to say anything about that. The only person who knew was Lee, and he wouldn’t say anything. 

When they received their course schedules for fifth year it turned out that the only class the fifth years had today was astronomy, which wasn’t until later that evening. Emile went up to her dormitory to take a nap, happy to wake up at two pm. 

“What are you two up to?” Emile yawned as she joined the twins in the common room.

“Blimey Em,”Fred laughed as he saw her.

“You look exhausted.” George smiled at her as she yawned again and rested her head on his shoulder. 

“I am. I don’t know why, I’ve been sleeping since breakfast.”

Fred shook his head. “Don’t make us throw you into the lake to wake you up, that won’t go well. 

“Shut up, Fred.” Emile sat up and threw a pillow at him. He batted it away, smiling.

“Well now, you asked what we were up to.” George smiled at Emile as he pulled out a piece of paper. “Check this out.”

“Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes?” Emile looked up at the boys, slightly confused.

“Brilliant, isn’t it?” Fred gushed, his face aglow.

“We’ve been evaluating our life decisions, as well as our chances of getting decent jobs at the ministry.” George looked over at the paper Emile held as he spoke. 

“Our chances are pretty low,” Fred admitted shamelessly. “So we came up with a flawless plan.”

“Almost flawless,” George rolled his eyes at his brother. “We could use some money to start us off, the plan won’t work without a bit-”

“Ok but what is the plan?” Emile interrupted George as he began to ramble.

“We are going,” Fred began, leaning forward from where he sat across from Emile.

“To open up” George continued, rubbing his hands together.

“A joke shop!” They said in unison, grinning. 

Emile smiled at the twins. “Like Zonkos?”

“But better!” They said eagerly.

At that moment Oliver walked over to the group, eager to talk about the new training methods he came up with over the summer. Emile frowned at George, who rolled his eyes back at her. She was getting very tired of Oliver constantly butting into conversations to talk about Quidditch. 

“Hey guys,” Lee sat down next to George, interrupting Oliver and smiling at Emile as she mouthed thank you to him. “Did you hear the news?”

“What news?” George turned to his friend quickly.

“Sirius Black has been sighted near here. Some muggle town it was, ministry didn’t get there in time to catch him.” Lee glanced over at Oliver as he spoke.

“So, he’s getting closer, and no ones caught him yet.” Oliver frowned skeptically. “How does he do it? Move so fast without being spotted?”

“Who knows?” Fred sighed, folding up the paper about his joke shop and tucking it into the pocket of his robes. 

“Merlin, it’s almost dinnertime.” Emile stood up as she stared at the clock on the wall. “I’d better go fetch my books, we have astrology afterwards.”

Lee let out a groan and struck up a new conversation as Emile went over the stairs leading to the girls dormitories. Once she got to her room she grabbed her bookbag and star maps, carefully sealing the lid onto her ink jar as she placed it into her bag. Though she prefered to use pens many professors frowned upon muggle tools.

When Emile returned to the common room the boys were nowhere to be found. Emile headed down to the great hall alone. 

At the end of September, Emile had a new favorite class. She had never been particularly good at Defense Against the Dark Arts before, but she enjoyed the way Professor Lupin taught and that vastly improved her participation and dedication to the class.

Most evenings she was in the hidden corner of the library finishing the vastly increased amounts of homework. The professors seemed to all be trying their best to hammer in every fine detail of their subject into the students heads. 

Quidditch season began in the beginning of October, Oliver made sure to be the first to book practices on the field. There was a quiet sort of desperation in Oliver’s voice a's he addressed his six fellow team members in the chilly locker rooms on the edge of the darkening Quidditch field. 

"This is our last chance -- my last chance -- to win the Quidditch Cup," he told them, striding up and down in front of them. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it." 

"Gryffindor hasn't won for seven years now. Okay, so we've had the worst luck in the world -- injuries -- then the tournament getting called off last year,” Wood swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. 

"But we also know we've got the best-ruddy-team-in-the-school," he said, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye. 

"We've got three superb Chasers." Wood pointed at Alicia Spinner, Angelina Johnson, and Katie Bell. 

"We've got two unbeatable Beaters." 

"Stop it, Oliver, you're embarrassing us," said Fred and George Weasley together, pretending to blush. 

"And we've got a Seeker who has never failed to win us a match!" Wood rumbled, glaring at Harry with a kind of furious pride. 

"And me," he added as an afterthought. 

"We think you're very good too, Oliver," said George. 

"Spanking good Keeper," said Fred. 

"The point is," Wood went on, resuming his pacing, "the Quidditch Cup should have had our name on it these last two years. Ever since Harry joined the team, I've thought the thing was in the bag. But we haven't got it, and this year's the last chance we'll get to finally see our name on the thing...." Wood spoke so dejectedly that even Fred and George looked sympathetic. 

“These are our hours, Oliver,” Emile said as she gave the captain a small side hug.

"Oliver, this year's our year," said Fred. 

"We'll do it, Oliver!" said Angelina.

"Definitely," said Harry. 

Full of determination, the team started training sessions, three evenings a week. The weather was getting colder and wetter, the nights darker, but no amount of mud, wind, or rain could tarnish Oliver's wonderful vision of finally winning the huge, silver Quidditch Cup.

One evening when Emile entered the common room with the rest of the team, they noticed a crowd gathered at the notice board.

“What’s going on?” She asked Lee, who was talking to Angelina by the board.

“The next Hogsmeade date was posted.” Lee pulled her over to the board. “It’s on Halloween again.”

“That sounds fun,” Emile smiled at her fellow prefect. “I need to buy some new quills.”

“Oh, is that your idea of fun now?” He laughed and shoved her in the arm, his nose wrinkling as he touched her muddy robes.

“Well, I should go change, see you later,” Emile turned away after a moment of silence between them, an unexplainable knot forming in her stomach.

As she crossed the common room, she heard Fred talking about how he was almost out of stink pellets, no doubt he was telling Harry and Ron about Zonkos. 

The Monday before the Hogsmeade trip, Emile woke in a particularly foul mood. Monday’s were terrible. She had History of Magic, Potions, Divination, and double Defense Against the Dark Arts. A terrible pattern of classes, starting with bad and ending with good. And an essay was due in every one of them. 

Emile didn’t speak during breakfast or lunch. When dinner came she felt overwhelmed with all of the recently assigned homework and shut out everyone, reading one of the works of Bathilda Bagshot as she chewed through a baked potato. 

“Emile?” Fred waved his hand in front of her face, causing her to choke on a mouthful of food.

“What do you want, Fred? Is someone dying? Is that why you’re trying to kill me?” Emile stood up from next to the dumbstruck redhead, turning to leave. 

As she crossed the great hall, she bumped into Oliver Wood, who smiled and started to say something. 

“Mention Quidditch to me and I swear I will break your broomstick,” She said as she strode past him on her way to the library. 

After over an hour of vigorous studying, Oliver came into the hidden section of the library and sat down across from her.

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?” 

“Why would I do that when I can read all about the Giant Wars,” Emile said without looking up from her book.

After a minute of silence, Oliver spoke again. “Do you really think that all there is to me is Quidditch?”

“Yes,” Emile said without thinking. “You’re so passionate about it, it’s like someone talking about their soulmate.”

“I don’t like this blunt Emile.”

“Emile doesn’t like OWL year.” She refused to look up, feeling tears forming in her eyes.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?” 

Emile paused before handing Oliver a stack of papers next to her. “Just look, I can’t even write a proper essay. Three D’s.” She wiped her cheek with one of her hands as a tear slid down it.

“But you got an E on the Defense Against the Dark Arts Essay!” Oliver attempted to cheer her up.

“But I still got three D’s,” she sniffed. “I’m going to fail the OWL’s at this rate, and I don’t even know what I want to do after I graduate.” 

“It sounds like you’re under a lot of stress,” Oliver put his hand on Emile’s  shoulder comfortingly. “Do you want to take a break from Quidditch?”

“W-what?” Emile stuttered, looking at the captain in astonishment.

Oliver smiled at her. “Only if you want to, I can see you’re stressed out and it’s fine with me if you want to take a break.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

After a moment of silence, Oliver cleared his throat. “I was um, I was also wondering if you maybe wanted to go with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?”

“What, like, like on a date?” Emile stared at the seventh year, dumbstruck.

“Well, yes, I guess you could put it that way,” Oliver smiled at her weakly.

“Um, sure. That sounds fun,” Emile smiled at him. Inside she was very confused, her mind was convinced that any moment she would wake up from this dream. She didn’t.

Emile apologized to Fred for being cross with him at dinner. He said it was fine, he didn’t care too much about OWL’s so it didn’t bother him that he’d gotten P’s on his Essay’s. George had scraped by with some P’s and A’s, which exceeded his expectations. They were sad to hear she was taking a break from Quidditch, but they pretended to understand. 

Emile was very nervous about the Hogsmeade trip. She was meeting Oliver at noon, so she made sure to go to Zonko’s with the twins beforehand. The day of the trip, she put on her favorite sweater and beanie, even letting Angelina to do a bit of her makeup.

“I told you he wanted to date you!” Her roommate kept repeating.

“And I’m telling you he just feels bad,” Emile responded over and over.

She didn’t tell the twins about the date, and when Lee joined them on their way down to the village she definitely did not mention it. The group escorted Hermione and Ron to Honeydukes and Zonko’s, laughing at their astounded expressions. 

As Fred and George showed their brother the best products in the joke shop, Emile slipped out of the shop, opening the door carefully so she didn’t ring the bell. She headed up to the Three Broomsticks, nervously rubbing her hands together. A light rain was falling and  it was so cold Emile could see her breath. 

Outside of the Three Broomsticks she could see Oliver, who smiled as she approached. He held the door to the tavern open for her as they entered, sitting down in one of the booths and ordering butterbeers. 

“So,” Oliver looked over at the bags Emile had next to her. “I see you went to Honeydukes.”

“Yes, I like to stock up on sweets.” Emile looked up at Oliver. “Where do you usually go during the trips?”

“Well, I usually go to Spintwitches, Tomes and Scrolls, and this place.” Oliver gave a small laugh. “I don’t really do that much.”

“Have you ever been to Gladrags?” Emile held onto her cup of butterbeer, warming her cold hands. 

“A clothing store?” Oliver gave her a really odd look.

“They have screaming socks, I bought them for Cedric last year for Christmas,” Emile smiled and took a large gulp of her butterbeer. 

After they had finished their drinks, they headed to the Shrieking Shack. Oliver was quite interesting one on one, when he wasn’t talking about Quidditch. When Emile mentioned a muggle object he actually knew what it was, unlike so many wizards here.

“There it is,” he said as they drew closer to the abandoned building. “It’s got to be one of the most haunted places in Britain.”

“Sounds very dangerous,” Emile teased. “What’s the story behind it?”

“They say that every full moon you can heard shrieks and thuds coming from inside, that a beast unlike any other dwells within.” 

“Or a werewolf,” Emile rolled her eyes, smiling at Oliver.

“Or a werewolf,” He agreed, putting his arm around her.

At the Halloween feast, Emile sat with Angelina, her face aglow. Angelina wouldn’t stop asking questions about the date, and Emile had to whisper her responses to her so that the twins wouldn’t hear. 

“Em, you disappeared from us sometime after Zonkos,” Fred leaned across the table as she helped herself to the pudding. 

“Indeed I did, did you miss me Fred?” Emile batted her eyelashes at the redhead.

“No, but George certainly did.” Fred winked at his brother, who smirked and rolled his eyes.

“Where did you go, Em?” George asked as he leaned over.

Emile shrugged, trying her hardest not to blush. “I got some quills, grabbed some butterbeer. Stopped by the shrieking shack.”

“I heard from Percy that there was some oafs snogging by the shrieking shack,” Lee leaned over and joined into the conversation. “Did you see who it was?”

“No!” Emile said much too quickly, her face growing hot as Angelina giggled next to her.

Lee stared at her, open mouthed. Before he could say anything the feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a bit of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had a great success with a reenactment of his own botched beheading.

“Em, wait up,” Fred called out as she quickly dragged Angelina out of the great hall. 

Lee ran up to then, gasping. “It was you?”

“Maybe.” Emile felt her face growing even hotter.

“And Oliver?” Lee stared at her, jaw dropped. 

“Yes!” Angelina cried out next to her, jumping up and down.

“I can’t believe it,” Lee stared at Emile. “I thought you knew…”

Emile frowned at her friend, knowing the answer. “Knew what?” 

“I… nothing.” Lee began to walk away from her.

“Lee, please don’t ignore me again,” Emile reached out and grabbed his arm. “I’d miss you, you’re one of my best friends.”

“I--” Lee broke off his sentence, smiling feebly at Emile. “Just give me a week to wrap my head around this, alright?”

Emile nodded and let go of his arm as they approached the moving staircases. He hung back in the crowd to wait for the twins as Angelina pulled Emile onward.

“Why is this place so crowded?” Angelina asked, turning to Emile just as Dumbledore swept through the group, heading towards the portrait. The Fat Lady had vanished from her portrait, which had been slashed so viciously that strips of canvas littered the floor; great chunks of it had been torn away completely. 

Dumbledore took one quick look at the ruined painting and turned, his eyes somber, to see Professors McGonagall, Lupin, and Snape hurrying toward him. 

"We need to find her," said Dumbledore. "Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr. Filch at once and tell him to search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady." 

"You'll be lucky!" said a cackling voice. It was Peeves the Poltergeist, bobbing over the crowd and looking delighted, as he always did, at the sight of wreckage or worry. 

"What do you mean, Peeves?" said Dumbledore calmly, and Peeves's grin faded a little. He didn't dare taunt Dumbledore. 

Instead he adopted an oily voice that was no better than his cackle. "Ashamed, Your Headship, sit. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, sir, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful," he said happily. 

"Poor thing," he added unconvincingly. 

"Did she say who did it?" said Dumbledore quietly. 

"Oh yes, Professor," said Peeves, with the air of one cradling a large bombshell in his arms. "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see." Peeves flipped over and grinned at Dumbledore from between his own legs. "Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."


	21. Winter Melancholiness

That evening everyone slept in the great hall. Dumbledore conjured up squashy purple sleeping bags for everyone to sleep in, Emile didn’t sleep very well. She was up well into the morning, staring at the star covered ceiling and fretting about her own worries.

The school talked of nothing but Sirius Black for the next few days. The theories about how he had entered the castle became wilder and wilder; Hannah Abbott, from Hufflepuff, spent much of the day telling anyone who'd listen that Black could turn into a flowering shrub. 

The Fat Lady's ripped canvas had been taken off the wall and Replaced with the portrait of Sir Cadogan and his fat gray pony. Nobody was very happy about this. Sir Cadogan spent half his time challenging people to duels, and the rest thinking up ridiculously complicated passwords, which he changed at least twice a day.

"He's a complete lunatic," said Seamus Finnigan angrily to Percy. "Can't we get anyone else?" 

"None of the other pictures wanted the job," said Percy. "Frightened of what happened to the Fat Lady. Sir Cadogan was the only one brave enough to volunteer."

“The first Quidditch match is this Sunday,” Oliver said one day when they were studying together in the library, Emile leaning against Oliver.

“Cedric told me he had been made Captain of the Hufflepuff team, and that they were playing you lot this week.” Emile absentmindedly wrote down some notes from the battered old potion book she had once again checked out of the library. It helped her be top of the class and most liked Gryffindor of Snape’s, and she intended to stay that way.

“Really?” Oliver shifted next to Emile. “What position does he play?”

“Um, seeker I think,” Emile chewed on her lip, uncertain whether that was correct. “I’m pretty sure it’s seeker anyways.”

All of her friends grew more and more stressed as the game drew nearer. Emile was forced to listen to angry rants from each of the team members at least once, though most of them were from Oliver and Fred. Oliver was convinced that the team wasn’t taking Hufflepuff seriously and Fred was upset because he thought Oliver wasn’t taking them seriously.

“With the amount of trouble you get into it’s hard to,” Emile tried to joke with Fred. 

He glared at her for a moment before smiling a bit. He seemed to lighten up after that. 

The morning of the match, Emile sat between Lee and the Quidditch team. Her friend had resumed talking to her again, though he didn’t seem as open as he had been before. They were going to watch the match together, since neither of them were on the team and Lee wasn’t commentating on this match. 

"It's going to be a tough one," said Wood, who wasn't eating anything. 

"Stop worrying, Oliver," said Alicia soothingly, "we don't mind a bit of rain." 

But it was considerably more than a bit of rain. Such was the popularity of Quidditch that the whole school turned out to watch the match as usual, but they ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field, heads bowed against the ferocious wind, umbrellas being whipped out of their hands as they went. 

Emile had a large umbrella, fit for a family of five, that she brought down to the field. Lee got them good seats in one of the front rows and they huddled under the umbrella as the rain and wind lashed at the people on the stands. 

As the sky grew darker and the rain fell harder, Gryffindor was leading with fifty points.

“If someone doesn’t catch the snitch soon this game could go into the night!” Emile yelled to Lee over the crowd and rain. 

At that moment, Cedric flew past them, chasing a golden flash. Harry noticed and quickly followed, and the two disappeared into the low clouds after the snitch. An anxious moment later Cedric reappeared, the golden snitch clutched in his hand. The crowd’s cheer was interrupted by screaming as the small figure of Harry fell through the cloud bank, followed by a group of dementors.

Emile froze, her breathing growing heavy. Those terrible thoughts, those horrible memories. In the presence of the dementors everything she wanted to keep in came bubbling up to the surface. 

She was hardly aware of Lee shouting her name next to her until he shook her shoulders.

“Let’s get out of here!” He yelled over the crowd as he helped Emile up to the castle. 

Soaking wet, they entered the Gryffindor common room, Lee helping Emile over to the fireplace. He disappeared for a moment, returning with a piece of chocolate for Emile. 

“Thank you,” she whispered as it warmed her up inside. 

He hesitantly rested his head on her shoulder. They sat there, staring into the fire for a while until Angelina returned with the rest of the team. Lee pulled her away and whispered something into her ear. She nodded and pulled Emile away from the fire and up to their room.

“Come on dear, you need to go to bed.” Angelina pulled Emile into the room, handing her her pajamas.

“Angelina, wait.” Emile looked up at her roommate sadly. “I feel like I’m going to explode if I don’t tell someone.”

“Is this about Oliver?” Angelina took her hand comfortingly. “Breaking up isn’t that hard.”

“No, I don’t want to break up with him. It’s about my family.”

Angelina didn’t tell anyone what Emile told her, though she did keep an awkwardly close eye on Neville for a few days. Oliver was down in the dumps, Emile couldn’t find any way to cheer him up. It wasn’t until she lectured him that he agreed to join the team for a visit to Harry in the hospital wing. 

As time passed he grew hopeful again, looking forward to the next terms matches in excitement.

“I think the next Hogsmeade trip will be the weekend before term ends.” Oliver smiled at Emile as they walked through the halls towards the great hall, hand in hand. 

“I’ve got to get everyone Christmas presents.” Emile chewed on her lip. She hadn’t even thought about what to get for who, she didn’t even know what she was doing these holidays.

“How about I join you for lunch at noon, and then we can go shopping for presents?” Oliver smiled at Emile as he held the door to the hall open for her. 

“I’d like that,” Emile said as she smiled back at him.

Fred and George were talking about going home for the holiday’s before insisting that they join Emile for a butterbeer first thing on the hogsmeade trip.

“The walk there is going to be freeing, I want to warm up a bit before walking around,” George said as he helped himself to a serving of mashed potato’s.

“So should I meet you guys outside the castle so that we can walk down together or at the Three Broomsticks?” Emile mumbled through her mouth of roast chicken.

“Three Broomsticks,” the twins said in unison.

“In case you want to walk down with your boyfriend.” Fred rolled his eyes at George.

“I don’t want to have to skip the trip because I was sickened by you two lovebirds.” George smiled sweetly at Emile as he said this. 

She frowned at him. “At least we aren’t like Katie and her ex-boyfriend.”

“You make a fair point Emile, you make a fair point.”

Saturday morning, Emile put on her black trenchcoat and the grey beanie and scarf she had gotten from Cedric last Christmas. Angelina insisted on curling Emile’s hair. She had been attempting to get Emile into more girly things for some while. 

Emile got to Hogsmeade a bit earlier than expected and went into Spintwitches to pick out a present for Oliver. In the end she got him a new broomstick servicing kit and new Quidditch gloves. His old ones were pretty worn and he had started getting rashes on his wrist from them. 

When Emile entered the Three Broomsticks she bumped into Lee. They sat down together at the counter and waited for the twins. First five, then ten, then twenty minutes passed. 

“Why aren’t they here?” Emile asked after finishing her second mug of butterbeer. 

Lee shrugged. “The might have decided not to come. You know, they were kind of upset you didn’t trust them enough to tell them about Oliver. I was too.”

“I apologized for that,” Emile sighed deeply.

“Yes, you did.” Lee took a swing of his butterbeer. 

“It’s almost noon, Oliver should be here soon.” Emile said right as a familiar Scott sat down next to them.

“Hello Lee,” Oliver smiled as he ordered a butterbeer. “Will you be joining us for lunch?”

“Actually I think I’d better go find um, the twins. Yes.” Lee said, standing up hesitantly. “I’ll see you later Emile.”

“Goodbye, Lee!” Emile called as he left the tavern.

Oliver cleared his throat next to her. “Well I think I’ll have the cornish pasties, what about you?”

“Shepard's pie,” Emile said bluntly as Madame Rosmerta brought over Oliver’s drink. 

“You alright?” He asked after taking a sip.

“Fine, I just don’t like the idea that the twins are upset with me.” Emile said as her pie was served.

“Emile, you must learn to trust us,” Oliver smiled sadly at her. “We all love you, but we hardly know anything about you.”

“Oh and believe me when I say you don’t want to,” Emile sighed as she took a bite of her pie. “This is very good.”

“I don’t know how long it will take you to trust me, but I’ll keep trying,” Oliver mumbled around his cornish pastie. 

Once they finished their lunch, the two headed out of the tavern and up the street to Gladrags where Emile finally showed Oliver the screaming socks. He found them immensely amusing, and Emile bought two pairs for the twins. In Honeydukes she purchased a bag of Droobles Best Blowing Gum and sugar quills. 

As they passed Ron and Hermione on their way out Emile heard Ron say, "Reckon Fred'd take a bit of Cockroach Cluster if I told him they were peanuts?" She made a mental note to tell Fred about this as soon as time permitted. 

“I reckon I should pick something up for Mrs. Diggory in Rosa Lee’s Tea bags,” Emile thought aloud as they strolled past Madame Puddlefoot’s Tea Shop.

“Reckon you could help me choose something out for my mother too?” Oliver smiled down at her as they approached the shop.

“Hmm,” Emile smiled up at him, “But what would I get out of it?”

With that Oliver put his hand around her waist and dipped her, kissing her roughly before standing her back up. A classic movie star kiss.

“You’ve made your point,” Emile said, blushing. 

“You’re adorable,” he said, smiling at her.

“You two sicken me,” said a voice behind them. George Weasley was standing with his twin their arms crossed. But they were both smiling.

”In a good way of course,” Fred smiled as he walked up next to Emile.

“What do you two want?” Emile frowned at the twins.

“We were just on our way to Honeydukes after an uneventful butterbeer at the Leaky Cauldron.” George said, turning to Emile. “Why didn’t you meet us there?”

“I was waiting for over an hour and you guys weren’t there, so I continued with my plans with Oliver.” Emile crossed her arms as they neared the teashop.

“Of course, did you two go to Madame Puddlefoots?” Fred nudged Oliver in the side.

“No, we’ve been Christmas shopping.” Oliver took Emile’s hand and pulled her into the shop. “And we’ve got a few more stops to make before heading back to the castle so if you’ll excuse us.”

“Come on Fred, they want some privacy.” George nudged his brother as they walked away.

“I hate them sometimes,” Emile sighed as the wandered through the teapots and tea flavors. Emile bought a fine China Teacup set for Mrs. Diggory and a small box of Licorice Spice tea for herself, and after a lot of questioning helped Oliver pick out a fine tea set for his mother. 

After a few more stops, the pair headed back up to the castle, Emile shivering violently. She had to pack her supplies, as she was returning home for the holidays the next morning. Though she wasn’t looking forward to the minister’s dinner that much, Emile was looking forward to seeing Nepeta again.

“You need to show me a picture of your horse,” Oliver said as they ate dinner that evening.

“I have pictures in my room; I have a photo album.” Emile finished her salad as she spoke, chewing slowly. “I can show them to you on the train tomorrow.”

“Sounds great,” Oliver smiled as he took a bite of baked potato.

The train ride the next day was normal. Emile dressed warmly in her favorite jeans and a maroon sweater.  She sat in a compartment with Oliver and Carrot, showing him her photo album. She was careful to leave out any details regarding her father, who was in a few of the pictures. He was very interested in her horse and the Diggory manor, and gawked at the sketches of the area Emile showed him.

After the snack trolley came around and she had had a hot cup of pumpkin juice, Emile fell asleep with her head resting on Oliver’s shoulder. She was woken quite rudely when the twins came into the carriage as they reached the outskirts of London, a letter in their hands.

“Em, we just got this,” Fred gasped as George handed her the folded piece of parchment.

“What is it?” She asked, beginning to unfold it.

“It’s a letter for Mr. and Mrs. Diggory asking if you can spend Christmas with us.” Fred smiled at her. “If it’s alright with Oliver, of course.”

“I’m not worried,” Oliver said as he put his arm around Emile’s shoulders.

“Brilliant, we’ll be waiting for your letter then, alright Em?”   
“Sounds good,” Emile smiled and rested her head on Oliver once again as the twins left the compartment. 

Oliver spoke after a moment, when it was announced that they would be arriving in five minutes.

“I suppose I ought to give you your present now,” he said as he pulled a parcel out of his pocket.

Emile smiled and pulled his present out of her mokeskin pouch, and they exchanged gifts.

“No opening until Christmas,” Emile teased as he shook the parcel curiously.

“Oh but what’s the fun in that?” He smiled and leaned forward, kissing her on the cheek.

“You missed,” she whispered as she leaned forward, kissing him lightly on the mouth. 

As she began to draw away he leaned forward, his lips locking with hers again. This kiss was more rough, more urgent, more passionate than any other she’d received. It was a kiss that made her stomach churn, a kiss that left her craving more. 

Their snogging session broke off as the train drew to a halt at King’s Cross and the students were being escorted off. Emile jumped off of the train with Oliver, giving him a quick kiss goodbye as he headed off to where his parents were waiting for him. 

“Emile,” Lee walked up to her, a small smile on his face. “I just wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, and to give you your present.”

Emile smiled as she took a small parcel from Lee. “Thank you, I’m afraid I haven’t wrapped your present yet.”

“That’s fine, you can send it by owl.” Lee drew her in for a hug, one that lasted a bit too long. “I’ll see you in the new year.”

“Happy Christmas,” She whispered into his ear as he let her go, confused by the pity she felt for her friend.

As he walked away she spotted Cedric and Mr. Diggory waiting by one of the fireplaces. Clutching the letter from Mrs. Weasley to her chest, she headed toward her Uncle and cousin, ready for the lectures about boys she sensed in her near future.


	22. Christmas at the Weasleys

Christmas Eve, Emile awoke in the treehouse by the frozen river. She had placed several mason jars of fire around the room, and was feeling very grateful for Darren’s idea of insulating the treehouse walls and ceiling. She had spent several nights in the treehouse, and was beginning to think of it as her own home. 

As she ate a quick breakfast of dried muggle cereal, she sat on her sleeping bag wrapped in a blanket, looking out the window across the white wasteland. Here and there little sparrows flitted among the branches of the trees, and a small herd of deer cautiously made it’s way through the woods. 

Once she had eaten breakfast, Emile got dressed and packed her hiking bag with everything she had brought along with her for her several night trip. Her ice skates she took off a hook on the wall and wrapped them in her pajamas so that they wouldn’t get scratched, placing them in the bag on top of the many empty food containers. 

After a several hour trek through the woods, Emile arrived at the Diggory manor. The mansion was warmly lit and Emile could see Uncle Amos and his wife eating dinner in the dining room. Cedric was no doubt already preparing for the Minister’s dinner, god only knew what took him so long. 

“Emile!” Her Uncle grinned as she entered the dining room after dropping of her pack in her room. “Good to see you child, do tell me where you’ve been lurking these past few days.”

“I went camping, Uncle. By the lake. Spent my day’s ice skating watching the wildlife, it was a very eye opening experience.” Emile sat down across from Mrs. Diggory and helped herself to the lasagna and caesar salad before her. 

“Oh don’t bother making up lies, child.” Mrs. Diggory sniffed as she took a sip of her tea. “You’ve been off with your boyfriend.”

“I believe Emile, my dear. If she says she was in the forest, she was in the forest.” Emile’s uncle winked at Emile as he spoke. Obviously he had the same idea as his wife, that Emile had gone off to Oliver’s and done god only knows what with the boy.

“Dating a seventh year, simply revolting,” Mrs. Diggory muttered.

It took all of Emile’s willpower to keep from rolling her eyes as she finished her lunch and poured herself a cup of tea. 

“Emile, I expect you to be ready to go to the Weasley’s by three pm. I will meet you in the sitting room,” Her uncle said as she stood up from the table.

“I understand, Uncle Amos. I will see you soon then.” And with that Emile headed to her room to freshen up before she left for the Weasley’s.

A nap and a hot shower later, Emile stood in front of the fireplace in the sitting room, her mokeskin pouch in one hand and Carrot’s cage in the other. She had put on her black trench coat and the grey beanie, and was waiting for Mr. Diggory to show up.

“Emile,” Cedric walked up to her in his dress robes, his hair gelled back. 

“Cedric, what are you doing here?”  
“My father told me to tell you to go on without him, he says you’re old enough to go on your own.” Cedric fumbled around in his pockets before taking out a small parcel. “I also wanted to give you your Christmas present before you left.”

“Oh, thank you Cedric.” Emile smiled at her cousin. “I left gifts for all of you under the tree in the dining room.”

“Good to know, i’ll make sure Mother and Father remember to get them tomorrow morning.” Cedric smiled and gave her a hug before leaving the room.

Emile let out a sigh before taking a handful of floo powder from the ornate bowl next to the fireplace and casting it into the fire, shouting “The Burrow!” as she stepped through it.

A dizzying minute later, Emile spun out of the fireplace, wobbling around the room on unsteady feet until she felt someone grab her arm and sit her down.

“It’s good to see you again, Emile,” Mrs. Weasley’s smiling face came into focus in front of Emile.

“I’m happy to be here. Thank you for inviting me,” Emile said as soon as her vision came into focus again.

“I’m afraid Arthur took the boys out to run some errands for me, but we can take you up to Ginny’s room and get you settled in. Do you remember where it is?”

“Yes, I think so. Are you sure you don’t need any help? I’d be happy to stay and-”

“Oh that’s very nice of you dear but I’m alright for now. Go on, Ginny’s anxious to see you again.” Mrs. Weasley stood up with Emile and pushed her in the direction of the stairs before returning to the kitchen. 

Emile had no choice but to go up to Ginny’s room and ‘settle in.’ The young redhead was delighted to see her again and the two of them talked for a while as Emile helped set up the bed she would be sleeping in. As they talked, Emile placed Carrot’s cage by her bed and fed her pet rat, listening to Ginny prattle on and on about Hogwarts gossip. One comment in particular caught Emile’s attention.

“George seems awful jealous of you and Oliver, he always turns red when Fred brings it up.” Ginny smirked at Emile in a way much like her brothers. “I’d say he either wants a relationship like that, or he has quite a little crush on you.”

Emile turned red but before she could respond the twins burst into Ginny’s room and grabbed Emile’s arms, dragging her out as their sister yelled at them in the background. 

“You came much earlier than expected, that was quite rude of you,” Fred said as they hauled her into their room. Emile was glad to find it much cleaner than last time, though there was a significantly larger amount of scorch marks on the ceiling and floor. 

Emile smiled as she sat down on the bed with them. She had missed her friends.

That evening after dinner, Emile sat by the fire eating popcorn with the Weasley family minus Ron and the oldest brother Charlie, who was away in Romania. But Bill was home for the holiday’s from Egypt, and he had many stories to tell. 

“Have you thought about what you’ll do after you get out of school, Emile?” Percy asked her as Mrs. Weasley left the room with Ginny to get a pot of hot chocolate.

“Yes,” Emile answered honestly as she took a handful of popcorn from the bowl in George’s arms.

“Have you made any decisions?” 

“No,” Emile laughed. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“Well, what do you enjoy doing? It’s always a good idea to find a job related to your hobbies and passions, that makes working more enjoyable.” Mr. Weasley joined into the conversation.

“Oh I don’t have any hobbies. I’m not very good at any-”

“Nonsense Em, your art is amazing.” Fred leaned over to join the conversation.

“Art?” George looked very confused.

“Well there you go,” Bill smiled, “that opens up a whole list of opportunities. If you like being creative and working with your hands you could paint portraits, be a photographer for the Daily Prophet, study wandlore-”  
“Wandlore?” Now it was Emile’s turn to lean forward. “You mean, I could learn to make wands?”

“Or you could work for us,” Fred grinned. “Once we open up our joke shop-”

“You two better not be talking about your, wizard wheezes or whatever it was called.” Mrs. Weasley returned with the hot chocolate, frowning at the twins as she and Ginny handed the hot cups out to the group.

“Why mother, why would you ever think that,” Fred said shamelessly.

“Sometimes I almost feel like she doesn’t trust us,” George said, shaking his head sadly.

“I wonder why,” Mrs. Weasley said sternly, though she couldn’t help but smile at the boys.

Christmas morning, Ginny woke up Emile by bouncing on her makeshift bed. Emile attempted to tell her off, but as soon as she lay back down for a few more minutes of shut eye the twins burst into the room and Emile was dragged off down the stairs. 

“Guys I have three parcels by my bed still,” Emile objected as she was dropped onto the living room sofa. “And my glasses.”

“I’ll get them,” Ginny yelled as she ran up the stairs.

Soon the rest of the family was awake, and after a delicious pancake breakfast the presents under the tree were distributed among the people gathered. 

Emile smiled at the collection of parcels in front of her, opening the large bulky one first, knowing it contained a honorary Weasley sweater. Emile immediately put the red sweater on, receiving a satisfied smile from Mrs. Weasley as she did so. 

Cedric had gotten her a jar of invisible ink, something the twins both gawked over. They had gotten her her own set of wizards chess, promising to teach her the rules. Lee’s present was a small pocket journal, something Emile found delightful. Mr. and Mrs. Diggory had simply given her a small bag of galleons with a note saying to spend them wisely.

The last present left for Emile to open was the gift from Oliver. She wasn’t sure whether she should open it in front of the twins or hide it and open it in the bedroom. When Fred asked what she had received from Oliver, she had no choice but to open it in the living room. 

“I’ll bet you a sickle it’s something to do with Quidditch,” she heard Fred whisper behind her as she unwrapped the parcel.

“I’ll take the bet,” George whispered back.

“Well, I think it’ll be something romantic,” Ginny said from Emile’s side.

Fred turned out to be right. Inside the parcel was a charm bracelet, with each of the Quidditch balls on it as well as a tiny charm of the Nimbus 2000, the broom Emile rode. She smiled slightly, putting this bracelet on with the rest of her small bracelet collection.

“That doesn’t count,” George complained as Fred demanded his sickle.

Emile laughed. “Pay up Georgie, that’s what you get for betting.”

“Alright, alright. But you have to promise to never call me Georgie again.”

“Does it make you not feel manly?” Emile punched him lightly in the shoulder a few times. “Feel manly yet?”

“Fight me,” he muttered in response.

“Gladly.” Emile laughed as she began to tickle George in the side. He quickly retaliated and tickled her back, since he wasn’t very ticklish. Unfortunately, Emile was. Once George had her pinned down Fred joined in, and it took the rage of Mrs. Weasley to call them off of their attack.

After they had gotten dressed the twins, Emile, Ginny, and Bill headed down to the nearby muggle village. George thought Emile would appreciate how the muggles decorated their houses for christmas, with their electric lights hanging from their houses. 

Emile bought a bag of crisps at the greengrocer which they all shared as they strolled down the street, window shopping. The purebloods found the muggles quite amusing, and weren’t at all surprised to find out Emile was a halfblood. 

“Not that it matters that we’re purebloods, we’re considered blood traitors to the rest of the wizarding world. That’s probably why we’re dirt poor,” Fred grumbled as they headed back to the burrow.

“Now Fred, it’s not that bad.” Bill said a bit sternly, sounding a lot like his mother. “We can all still get decent jobs, they look for skill not blood status.”

Ginny sighed next to Emile, sending the message that this was a conversation often had by the family, so she remained silent as they climbed the hill.

“You lot never told me you had a lake by your house!” Emile attempted to change the subject, running off the road as she said this.

“Didn’t we?” Fred looked over at George, who shrugged.

“Well, it’s more of a pond then a lake,” George said as they walked off the main road to the edge of the frozen water. 

“You should have remembered from when you were here in the summer,” Ginny smiled as Emile gazed longingly at the frozen water.

“If only I’d brought my skates,” she sighed longingly.

“You ice skate?” George cried, throwing his hands up in the air. “Why don’t you tell us these kinds of things!”

“We have spare skates you can probably borrow,” Bill said, urging the group onward. “Let’s go home and see if we can find them.”

“Is it even strong enough to hold us all?” Ginny asked, cautiously walking out onto the edge of the ice.

“Only one way to find out,” Fred smiled mischievously as he walked up to his sister and gave her a shove, pushing her out across the ice.

“Fred!” Bill yelled, whipping out his wand in case he had to save his sister. But Ginny skidded out ten feet across the ice before falling on her bum.

“It’s very thick!” She called back, crawling across the lake towards the group.

“Merlin’s beard, you guys,” Bill sighed as he put his wand away. “I’m freezing, let’s go see if father will go skating with you lot.”

Thirty minutes later the group returned to the small pond, skates in hand. Emile got Mrs. Weasley’s skates. She hadn’t joined them because she was busy making Christmas dinner, and insisted that Emile borrowed her skates. 

The group played ice hockey and had a snowball fight on the ice, returning to the burrow after a few hours dripping wet and exhausted for Mrs. Weasley’s delicious dinner consisting of roast ham and turkey with gravy and cranberry sauce. A pile of roast potatoes sat by a large bowl of buttered peas. There was even a large pile of wizard crackers, one for each person at the table.

Emile ate as much as she could fit, enjoying every bite. After she had eaten, she brought down Carrot and fed her some peas from a small saucer Mrs. Weasley provided, before the rat settled down in her sweater pocket and fell fast asleep. 

For dessert, Mrs. Weasley brought out flaming christmas pudding. Emile found two sickles embedded in her piece, which she put into her pants pocket for safekeeping from Fred, who was greedily looking at the money.

After dinner, George sat Emile down in front of the fireplace with her set of wizards chess, intent on teaching her how to play.

“I’ve played wizards chess before, George,” Emile interrupted him as he began to explain the role of each piece.

“But were you any good at it?” He retorted, grinning.

“No...” Emile smiled feebly and let him continue his explanations. 

She swore she heard Mrs. Weasley mutter something to Mr. Weasley that sounded an awful lot like ‘we were like that once.’ She warily played with the small charms on Oliver’s bracelet, wondering if he had liked his present.

“You aren’t even listening to me,” George’s indignant comment broke her train of thought.

“Yes, let’s play. I agree,” Emile leaned forward and studied the board. “Pawn to B3.”

“That isn’t what I-” George was interrupted by a stampede of feet coming down the stairs.

“TAKE IT!” Ginny screeched as she ran into the room with Fred and shoved a crumpled letter into her hands.

“What is it?” George asked, looking at Fred.

“A letter from lover boy,” Fred frowned indignantly, crowding around Emile to see what it said.

Under the supervision of three Weasley’s, Emile opened the letter from her boyfriend.

_ Dear Emile, _

_ Thank you for the gloves, they’re exactly what I needed. _

“You got him gloves?” Fred interrupted, frowning at Emile.

“Quidditch gloves,” Emile said, shoving him in the side.

“Real romantic.” He rolled his eyes at his brother.

“All you got us was socks and muggle deodorant,” George complained.

“That is very nice smelling deodorant, you’re sure you get a girlfriend, you ignorant twat,” Emile said as she shoved George aside.

_ I hope you like your present, I know you have a bracelet collection from important people in your life, and I wanted to make sure I was on it. _

“That's so cute!” Ginny gushed, receiving a glare from her brothers.

_ I’ve been thinking a lot about the upcoming Quidditch season, and was wondering what you thought I should do about Harry. The team can’t risk him having a fallout with the dementors again. He plays such an important role. And he doesn’t have a broomstick. Do you think I should write him a letter or wait until we return to school? _

_ I can’t wait to see you again. _

_ Love, _

_ Oliver Wood _

“Most of that letter was about Quidditch,” George frowned at Emile. “How do you survive this?”

“Girl’s find it cute when a guy is passionate about something,” Emile said, smiling as she folded up the letter, putting it in her pocket.

“Passionate?” Fred snorted. “He’s practically married to the sport.”


	23. Quidditch is Real Sirius

After New Years, everyone returned to the school via floo network. When you stepped into the fire you were supposed to say Hogwarts and what house you were in so that you could pop out of your Head of House’s chimney. Bill said it was because they didn’t want too many students getting tangled in the fireplace.

Emile went first, popping out of Professor McGonagall’s fireplace. 

“Emile, good. Are the Weasley’s with you?”

McGonagall had barely said the words when first Fred, then George, and then Ginny appeared, falling on top of each other as the struggled to leave the fireplace.

“Good. Now get out of here you lot, don’t want even more traffic in my office.”

Ginny quickly went off to find some of her second year friends while Emile and the twins headed to the great hall for dinner. As soon as they entered, Emile was pulled aside by Cedric, who without uttering a word, handed her a letter. Emile knew who it was from, and gave her cousin a weak smile as she tucked into her pocket.

“Not much longer,” her cousin whispered in her ear before heading off to the Hufflepuff table. 

Emile joined the twins at the table and listened to Lee and Angelina’s renditions of their holiday break. Lee had gone to the minister's dinner this year, and Angelina had spent New Year’s Eve in Paris. She showed Emile a photo of her and her cousins watching the fireworks coming from the Eiffel tower.

On the way up to the common room, Emile spotted Oliver talking to a few seventh years. Unwilling to interrupt their conversation, she continued walking with Angelina.

“I heard that in a few weeks we’ll be meeting with our heads of houses to discuss our career paths,” Emile said to Angelina as they approached the moving staircases.

“Oh yes, but I’m not too worried about that. Did you hear anything new about Sirius Black over the holiday’s?” Angelina asked as they entered the common room.

“No, I don’t pay attention to the news.” Emile sat down on one of the sofa’s as she spoke, kicking off her shoes.

“Where could he be?” Her roommate wondered aloud as Emile pulled out her sketchbook.

“I don’t know, maybe he has an invisibility cloak?” Emile said, flipping through her sketches unenthusiastically.

“Unlikely,” Oliver sat down next to her, smiling.

Emile smiled and pecked him on the cheek. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” Oliver smiled as Angelina giggled across from them.

“Have you talked to Harry yet?” Emile asked, closing her sketchbook.

“No, I was just about to go do that.” Oliver put his arm around her. “I just wanted to say hello first.”

“Go on you big lump,” Emile shoved him away as Angelina’s giggling grew louder.

They watched as he walked away, Angelina turning to Emile with a grin on her face. 

“He’s so into you,” She grinned.

“No, I always third wheel to quidditch.” Emile rolled her eyes and laughed before heading to her room.

Once she was inside, she changed into her pajamas and climbed into her bed, taking the letter from Cedric with her. She knew it was from her father. Hands shaking, she opened the worn envelope.

_ Hey Kiddo, _

_ I’m alive, don’t worry. You always were a worrier, just like your mother.  _

_ Another year’s passed and I still haven’t seen you once, do you think that uncle of your’s could maybe bring you for a visit sometime in the summer? I sure would love to see a friendly face.  _

_ The food here is garbage, I miss your cooking. I miss our old house. Heck, I even miss that bastard dog you used to have. I’d forgotten what it was like to be sober, and I’m not very happy to say I remember why I hated it so much.  _

_ I’ve enclosed some money for you to buy yourself something nice, as a gift from your old man. Spend it wisely, don’t get Doritos. _

_ I love you very much Emile. _

_ ~Poitr Gorski _

Emile held the letter against her chest, wishing she could somehow connect with her father. Know he was alright. She remembered him telling her that if she was to go into any wizarding field it ought to be something to do with muggles so that she wouldn’t miss out on all the upcoming technological advances. Damn, she missed him.

Ravenclaw played Slytherin a week after the start of term. Slytherin won, though narrowly. According to Wood, this was good news for Gryffindor, who would take second place if they beat Ravenclaw too. He therefore increased the number of team practices to five a week.

Emile didn’t mind too much, she spent most of her time studying in the library with Lee. Now that the OWL’s were only a few short months away the amount of homework they received dramatically increased. Emile was doing great in potions and care of magical creatures, not that they did much in that class. She wasn’t too concerned about charms, but history of magic and astronomy were another story. She was terrible at memorizing names and dates.

“I’m never going to get this,” she said one evening, slamming the astronomy book shut.

“Not with that attitude you won’t,” Lee teased. He took the book from her and opened it up to the middle. “Here, I found these easiest to remember. I’ll say the constellation and you plot it on the map.”

After he had named several constellations he took Emile’s chart from her and looked it over. As he did so Oliver squeezed into the space and sat down next to Emile, his ears red.

“What’s wrong?” She asked, putting her hand on his shoulder.

“McGonagall won’t give Harry back his Firebolt, he needs to train with it if he wants to use it in the match against Ravenclaw. He has no chance of catching the snitch on a Cleansweep.” Oliver grumbled, crossing his arms.

“I’m sure McGonagall will come around, she wants us to win as badly as you do. But if Sirius Black did send Harry that broom then we need to put his safety first. Would you rather have to find and train a new seeker or keep your very good current one safe?” 

Oliver sighed and put his arm around Emile. “Thank you,” he said, pecking her on the cheek.

“You’re an idiot,” she smirked, kissing him on the lips. “Have you told Harry yet?”

Oliver jumped up, nearly hitting his head on the ceiling. “Blimey, I should probably go do that.”

Once he left Lee looked up at Emile, frowning slightly. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard him ask you how you’re doing.”

Emile frowned. “What do you mean?”

“You messed up Cygnus and Gemini, the rest are fine.” Lee handed her back the star charts, getting up. “I need to go get a book for muggle studies.”

A few days later, Emile returned to the common room to find everyone buzzing with excitement. Harry had finally gotten his Firebolt, and was cradling it like a baby. Ron’s rat had disappeared, and Hermione’s cat was blamed.

“Scabbers was old anyways,” Fred shrugged it off, not very concerned.

The morning of the match Oliver had Harry put the Firebolt on the table to show off. 

“Put it here, Harry,” he said, laying the broom in the middle of the table and carefully turning it so that its name faced upward. People from the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables were soon coming over to look. Cedric Diggory came over to congratulate Harry on having acquired such a superb replacement for his Nimbus, and Percy’s Ravenclaw girlfriend, Penelope Clearwater, asked if she could actually hold the Firebolt.

“Now, now, Penny, no sabotage!” said Percy heartily as she examined the Firebolt closely “Penelope and I have got a bet on,” he told the team. “Ten Galleons on the outcome of the match!”

Penelope put the Firebolt down again, thanked Harry, and went back to her table.

“Harry — make sure you win,” said Percy, in an urgent whisper. “I haven’t got ten Galleons. Yes, I’m coming, Penny!” And he bustled off to join her in a piece of toast.

“Sure you can manage that broom, Potter?” said a cold, drawling voice.

Draco Malfoy had arrived for a closer look, Crabbe and Goyle right behind him.

“Yeah, reckon so,” said Harry casually.

“Got plenty of special features, hasn’t it?” said Malfoy. “Shame it doesn’t come with a parachute — in case you get too near a dementor.”

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered.

“Pity you can’t attach an extra arm to yours, Malfoy,” said Harry. “Then it could catch the Snitch for you.”

Emile and the Gryffindor team laughed loudly. Malfoy’s pale eyes narrowed, and he stalked away. They watched him rejoin the rest of the Slytherin team, who put their heads together, no doubt asking Malfoy whether Harry’s broom really was a Firebolt.

“Good luck out there today,” Emile said as the team rose to head down to the field. 

“We don’t need luck Em,” Fred smiled and patted her on the head.

“That’s right, we’ve got a Firebolt.” George grinned and waved as he headed down to the field.

It was a clear, cool day with a very light breeze; ideal Quidditch conditions. Emile sat in the commentators box by Lee in her jeans and a white blouse.

“They’re off, and the big excitement this match is the Firebolt that Harry Potter is flying for Gryffindor. According to Which Broomstick, the Firebolt’s going to be the broom of choice for the national teams at this year’s World Championship —”

“Jordan, would you mind telling us what’s going on in the match?” interrupted Professor McGonagall’s.

“Right you are, Professor — just giving a bit of background information — the Firebolt, incidentally, has a built-in auto-brake and —”

“Jordan!”

“Okay, okay, Gryffindor in possession, Katie Bell of Gryffindor heading for goal . . .”

Emile was chortling to herself in the corner as she turned her attention back to the game. Harry had gone into a sharp dive, followed by Cho, the Ravenclaw seeker. But one of the Ravenclaw beaters hit a bludger at him, and though he managed to avoid it he also seemed to lose sight of the snitch. George vented his feelings by hitting the second Bludger directly at the offending Beater, who was forced to roll right over in midair to avoid it.

“Gryffindor leads by eighty points to zero, and look at that Firebolt go! Potter’s really putting it through its paces now, see it turn — Chang’s Comet is just no match for it, the Firebolt’s precision-balance is really noticeable in these long —”

“JORDAN! ARE YOU BEING PAID TO ADVERTISE FIREBOLTS? GET ON WITH THE COMMENTARY!”

Emile was laughing pretty hard next to Lee, turning away from the microphone so that it wouldn’t pick it up.

“Do you go off topic on purpose?” She whispered to him.

“All the time,” He replied, grinning at her.

At that moment Harry and Cho dashed toward the Ravenclaw end of the field. They had spotted the snitch! Harry was beating Cho, getting closer and closer each second until Cho stopped, pointing up.

Three dementors were gliding over the field toward Harry, who had his hand under his robes. He whipped out his wand and cast a spell that shot silver light at the dementors, hitting them full force and causing them to fall out of sight.

As Emile saw Snape run off in the direction the creatures had fallen Harry reached out and grabbed the snitch, causing cheers to erupt from the bleachers. Madame Hooch blew her whistle, and the game was brought to a close. Emile watched as the Gryffindor team flew down to Harry and he disappeared from sight under a pile of scarlet robes.

“You should go congratulate your boyfriend,” Lee said as they exited their box with Professor McGonagall.

Before the Professor could say something, Snape strode up and whispered something in her ear, and the two hurried off towards the edge of the field. 

Emile ran to the highest point of the bleachers, followed by Lee. They watched as McGonagall yelled at a familiar blonde Slytherin and his henchmen.

“I hope they get detention,” Lee said gleefully as they headed off of the field. 

It felt as though they had already won the Quidditch Cup; the party went on all day and well into the night. Emile, Fred and George disappeared for a couple of hours and returned with armfuls of bottles of butterbeer, pumpkin fizz, and several bags full of Honeydukes sweets.

“How did you do that?” squealed Angelina as George started throwing Peppermint Toads into the crowd.

“With a little help from Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,” Emile heard Fred muttered in Harry’s ear.

Emile let Oliver talk as much as he wanted about this victory, she knew his goal for this year was to win Gryffindor the Quidditch cup. There may have been a bit of snogging later on, but that wasn’t till past eleven pm, when at least half the students had gone to bed.

The Gryffindor party ended only when Professor McGonagall turned up in her tartan dressing gown and hair net at one in the morning, to insist that they all go to bed. Angelina, Alicia, and Katie were up till three talking. They might have been up later, but Emile fell asleep at around three.

Not long after Angelina was shaking her awake.

“Whatsall the hubbubub?” Emile sat up, rubbing her eyes.

“There was some sort of commotion in the boys dormitory. Everyone’s in the common room.”

Emile sighed and grabbed her glasses, wrapping herself up in her quilt before heading down to the common room. As she entered, Fred came down from the boys side.

“Excellent, are we carrying on?” said Fred Weasley brightly.

“Everyone back upstairs!” said Percy, hurrying into the common room and pinning his Head Boy badge to his pajamas as he spoke.

“Perce — Sirius Black!” said Ron faintly. “In our dormitory! With a knife! Woke me up!”

The common room went very still.

“Nonsense!” said Percy, looking startled. “You had too much to eat, Ron — had a nightmare —”

“I’m telling you —”

“Now, really, enough’s enough!”

Professor McGonagall was back. She slammed the portrait behind her as she entered the common room and stared furiously around.

“I am delighted that Gryffindor won the match, but this is getting ridiculous! Percy, I expected better of you!”

“I certainly didn’t authorize this, Professor!” said Percy, puffing himself up indignantly. “I was just telling them all to get back to bed! My brother Ron here had a nightmare —”

“IT WASN’T A NIGHTMARE!” Ron yelled. “PROFESSOR, I WOKE UP, AND SIRIUS BLACK WAS STANDING OVER ME, HOLDING A KNIFE!”

Professor McGonagall stared at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Weasley, how could he possibly have gotten through the portrait hole?”

“Ask him!” said Ron, pointing a shaking finger at the back of Sir Cadogan’s picture. “Ask him if he saw —”

Glaring suspiciously at Ron, Professor McGonagall pushed the portrait back open and went outside. The whole common room listened with bated breath.

“Sir Cadogan, did you just let a man enter Gryffindor Tower?”

“Certainly, good lady!” cried Sir Cadogan.

There was a stunned silence, both inside and outside the common room.

“You — you did?” said Professor McGonagall. “But — but the Password!”

“He had ’em!” said Sir Cadogan proudly. “Had the whole week’s, my lady! Read ’em off a little piece of paper!”

Professor McGonagall pulled herself back through the portrait hole to face the stunned crowd. She was white as chalk.

“Which person,” she said, her voice shaking, “which abysmally foolish person wrote down this week’s passwords and left them lying around?”

There was utter silence, broken by the smallest of terrified squeaks. Neville Longbottom, trembling from head to fluffy slippered toes, raised his hand slowly into the air.

The whole house stayed awake for the last few hours before sunrise, knowing that the castle was being searched for Sirius Black. They wanted news on whether he had been caught or not.

Emile fell asleep with her head on Oliver’s lap at around 5am, exhausted. She woke up at dawn when Professor McGonagall came in to announce that Sirius Black had escaped once again.


	24. Facing the Future

Throughout the next few days, everywhere they went they saw signs of tighter security; Professor Flitwick could be seen teaching the front doors to recognize a large picture of Sirius Black; Filch was suddenly bustling up and down the corridors, boarding up everything from tiny cracks in the walls to mouse holes. Sir Cadogan had been fired. His portrait had been taken back to its lonely landing on the seventh floor, and the Fat Lady was back. She had been expertly restored, but was still extremely nervous, and had agreed to return to her job only on condition that she was given extra protection. A bunch of surly security trolls had been hired to guard her. They paced the corridor in a menacing group, talking in grunts and comparing the size of their clubs.

Neville was in total disgrace. Professor McGonagall was so furious with him she had banned him from all future Hogsmeade visits, given him a detention, and forbidden anyone to give him the password into the tower. Poor Neville was forced to wait outside the common room every night for somebody to let him in, while the security trolls leered unpleasantly at him. None of these punishments, however, came close to matching the one his grandmother had in store for him. Two days after Black’s break-in, she sent Neville the very worst thing a Hogwarts student could receive over breakfast — a Howler.

The school owls swooped into the Great Hall carrying the mail as usual, and Neville choked as a huge barn owl landed in front of him, a scarlet envelope clutched in its beak. Harry and Ron, who were sitting opposite him, recognized the letter as a Howler at once — Ron had got one from his mother the year before.

“Run for it, Neville,” Ron advised. 

Neville didn’t need telling twice. He seized the envelope, and holding it before him like a bomb, sprinted out of the hall, while the Slytherin table exploded with laughter at the sight of him. 

They heard the Howler go off in the entrance hall — Neville’s grandmother’s voice, magically magnified to a hundred times its usual volume, shrieking about how he had brought shame on the whole family.

“I feel so bad for him,” Emile sighed as she headed to charms with Angelina.

“He still doesn’t know that you’re his-”  
“No!” Emile put her hand over her roommates mouth. “He doesn’t know. And you’re the only person who knows, so if we could keep it on the down low, I would really appreciate that.”

After class, Emile went to the library with the intention of finishing her charms homework as soon as possible. Half a roll of parchment later, Oliver came into the library space and joined her. He was working on an essay for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“There’s a Hogsmeade trip this weekend,” he said, looking up from the essay. “Are you planning to go?”

“Yes, but I have to cut the trip short. I’ve got my career meeting with McGonagall at three pm.”

“Oh, well we can do something before then, right?” Oliver looked at her, smiling hopefully.

“Of course, why wouldn’t we?” Emile stared at him, confused.

He shrugged. “I thought you might want to spend some time with the twins, and Lee.”

“Of course I do, I always spend a bit of time with them. But I set aside time especially for you.”

“That’s good to hear, wouldn’t want to think that one of them is trying to get your attention.” Oliver smiled at her and she rolled her eyes, grinning.

That Saturday morning Emile walked down to Hogsmeade with Oliver. The stopped by Honeydukes, Scrivenshaft’s Quill shop, and Tomes and Scrolls before heading to the Leaky Cauldron. There they met up with the twins and Lee, and after a cup of butterbeer or two went their separate ways. 

“I can’t believe he lets you hang out with three guys,” Fred teased as they headed to Zonkos.

“Why wouldn’t he? He doesn’t own me.” Emile rolled her eyes, and George smiled next to her.

“Have you thought about what your plan is for your future?” Lee asked somewhat cryptically as they entered Zonkos.

“Yes, I think I’ve made a decision.” Emile took a deep breath, turning to her friends. “I want to learn more about wandlore and wand making.”

“Brilliant,” George beamed. “When you become the next Ollivander you can open a shop next to ours.”

“We could have deals, with each new wand purchased from Emile you get a coupon for a free item from Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, with an additional purchase of course.” Fred grabbed Emile’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Splendid doing business with you.”

“Absolutely spiffing,” George added as he shook her other hand.

Lee laughed behind them “Come on you lot, these Dungbombs aren’t going to buy themselves.”

Professor McGonagall was surprised by Emile’s career of choice.

“Wandlore?” She gave Emile a curious look. “May I ask why?”

“Well,” Emile hesitated, thinking for a moment. “It’s always interested me. I spoke to Mr. Weasley about it over the holiday’s and when he asked what kind of job I would prefer I said one where I work with my hands. I enjoy creating things, and I think I would be very good at this, given the opportunity.”

Professor McGonagall smiled. “Well, I completely agree.”

“You do?” Emile was surprised, she didn’t expect the professor to be so enthusiastic about wand making. If anything, Emile thought McGonagall would rank wandlore almost as low as she ranked Divination.

“I do, my dear. Not many wizards choose to go into wandlore, but the ones who do usually decide at a young age. I have no doubt you will be as good as Mr. Ollivander.” Professor McGonagall beamed at Emile before quickly flipping through her papers.

“Now, next year for NEWT classes I suggest you do Charms and History of Magic definitely. Astronomy and Ancient Runes are also strongly recommended. Though I would be delighted to see you in Transfiguration, that is really more of an optional class for you.”

“Thank you very much Professor,” Emile grinned and stood up as Professor McGonagall handed her a paper. 

“Oh and Emile, dear? In your seventh year, if it interests you, I can get you a letter of recommendation for an apprenticeship with Ollivander.” Professor McGonagall winked at Emile as she thanked her and left the room, thrilled. 

Since it was already growing dark Emile saw no need to return to Hogsmeade and instead she went up to her room to unpack her recently acquired objects.

After an hour or so, people began to trickle into the Gryffindor common room where Emile was studying Astronomy. Angelina stopped by to nervously ask what kind of mood McGonagall was in before heading off for her own career meeting.

“Emile!” Oliver sat down next to her on the sofa, putting his arm around her. “How did it go?”

“It went pretty well,” Emile grinned and took out the paper from McGonagall. “I have to take four NEWT classes sixth and seventh year.”

“Four?” Oliver took the paper from her and read it over, frowning slightly. “Wandlore?”

“Do you have something against that?” Emile grabbed the paper back from it, tucking it into her sketchbook.

“It would be a waste of your skill on a broom!” Oliver said indignantly. “Emile you’re amazing, I saw you the first time you played Quidditch, remember?”

“Not like I’ve gotten a chance to ever play in a game since then!” Emile retorted, her blood boiling. “Oliver, Quidditch is really your thing, not mine.”

“So it can’t be our thing?” 

“Since when has Quidditch ever been our thing? I haven’t played it since last year!”

“I know but,” Oliver broke off and fumbled for a moment as if searching for the right words.

After a moment he sighed and sank into the sofa. 

“I don’t know what I was thinking, Emile. You’re a fifth year and I’m a seventh year. It’s stupid to date someone in your seventh year when you know you’ll be going off soon.”

“So, you’re breaking up with me.” Emile shook her head, more disappointed than sad. “I see your point Oliver, but this is still pathetic. If you really cared about me you would try to make it work out between us, but I see that the only thing you’ll ever love is Quidditch.”

With that said Emile took her books and went over to the stairs leading to the dormitories. She was surprised at how little emotion she felt towards this, and at around three am she came to a conclusion. This had been one of those stupid high school flings, and they should have remained just friends instead of becoming friends with benefits.


	25. It's Not Me, It's My Anxiety

Soon the Easter holidays came. Emile spent most of them crammed in the library with Lee, studying anxiously for their OWL’s. The twins joined them sometimes, but overall they weren’t as concerned about the exams as Lee and Emile were.

“I’ve got to get this right,” she repeated over and over, scribbling out star charts and class notes.

“Emile, you need to take a break,” Lee said worriedly as she had him check the fourth star chart of hers in the same study session.

“I’ll take a break when I’m dead,” she replied without glancing up from her potions notes. The battered old potions book had a lot of useful potions that Emile had copied down legibly and organized with most likely to be on the OWL on the top of the pile of parchment.

“Emile, you’ve got them all right!” Lee gave her a tight hug as he passed back the star chart. “You’re sure to do fine on the OWL.”

“I’d better, Astrology and Wandlore are connected, I need to remember these things.”

At that moment the twins came into the hiding hole, scowling.

“What’s up?” Emile asked as George sat down next to her.

“Oliver’s overtraining us in anticipation for the Slytherin versus Gryffindor match next Sunday.” Fred sighed and flopped down next to Lee.

“He’s stressed and keeps repeating the same words over and over again,” George added. “‘We must stay fifty points up in order to definitely win, or we win the match but lose the

Cup. You’ve got that, haven’t you guys?”” He leaned against the shelves and rolled his eyes, groaning.

“I feel very bad for you guys,” Emile put her head on George’s shoulder, closing her eyes for a moment. Everyone was having a very stressful time.

Never, in anyone’s memory, had a match approached in such a highly charged atmosphere. By the time the holidays were over, tension between the two teams and their Houses was at the breaking point. A number of small scuffles broke out in the corridors, culminating in a nasty incident in which a Gryffindor fourth year and a Slytherin sixth year ended up in the hospital wing with leeks sprouting out of their ears.

When Emile attempted to defend George in the hallways from jinxes, she accidentally struck Neville in the back with the full body bind. This small mess up was the pebble that brought down the dam, and she collapsed in the courtyard, sobbing.

Fred and George helped her to the hospital wing, where Madame Pomfrey diagnosed her with the first nervous breakdown of the OWL season.

“Don’t worry dear,” she soothed as she coaxed a Calming Draught into Emile. 

“Will she be alright?” George asked nervously as Emile began to doze off.

“Go to class, you butt,” she managed to mutter before sleep came over her like a black wave.

Several hours later, Emile awoke from a nightmare she couldn’t remember, crying once more.

“I’m s-sorry for the in-c-convenience,” she spluttered between tears as Madame Pomfrey gave her more Calming Draught. 

“It’s no problem dear, I promise you. Sleep, child. Sleep.”

Emile didn’t leave the hospital wing until the day of the match. Lee himself came and promised Madame Pomfrey that he would personally take care of her. After she had showered and dressed in jeans and a red plaid shirt she followed Lee to the commentator box, where they were soon joined by Professor McGonagall. 

““And here are the Gryffindors!” yelled Lee Jordan. “Potter, Bell, Johnson, Spinnet, Weasley, Weasley, and Wood. Widely acknowledged as the best team Hogwarts has seen in a good few years —”

Lee’s comments were drowned by a tide of “boos” from the Slytherin end.

“And here come the Slytherin team, led by Captain Flint. He’s made some changes in the lineup and seems to be going for size rather than skill —”

More boos from the Slytherin crowd, though Emile saw his point. Draco Malfoy was easily the smallest boy on the team, the rest of them were huge.

“And it’s Gryffindor in possession, Alicia Spinnet of Gryffindor with the Quaffle, heading straight for the Slytherin goal posts, looking good, Alicia! Argh, no — Quaffle intercepted by Warrington, Warrington of Slytherin tearing up the field — WHAM! — nice Bludger work there by George Weasley, Warrington drops the Quaffle, it’s caught by — Johnson, Gryffindor back in possession, come on, Angelina — nice swerve around Montague — duck, Angelina, that’s a Bludger! — SHE SCORES! TEN–ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!”

Angelina punched the air as she soared around the end of the field; the sea of scarlet below was screaming its delight —

“OUCH!”

Emile gasped as Angelina was nearly thrown from her broom as Marcus Flint went smashing into her.

“Sorry!” said Flint as the crowd booed. “Sorry, didn’t see her!”

A moment later, Fred Weasley chucked his Beater’s club at the back of Flint’s head. Flint’s nose smashed into the handle of his broom and began to bleed.

“That will do!” shrieked Madam Hooch, zooming between them. “Penalty shot to Gryffindor for an unprovoked attack on their Chaser! Penalty shot to Slytherin for deliberate damage to their Chaser!”

“Come off it, Miss!” howled Fred, but Madam Hooch blew her whistle and Alicia flew forward to take the penalty.

“Come on, Alicia!” yelled Lee into the silence that had descended on the crowd. “YES! SHE’S BEATEN THE KEEPER! TWENTY–ZERO TO GRYFFINDOR!”

Emile looked at Oliver for a long moment, who had flown up to attempt to block Slytherins penalty shot, before turning to watch Flint, still bleeding freely, fly forward to take the Slytherin penalty. Wood was hovering in front of the Gryffindor goal posts, his jaw clenched.

“ ’Course, Wood’s a superb Keeper!” Lee Jordan told the crowd with a wink at Emile as Flint waited for Madam Hooch’s whistle. “Superb! Very difficult to pass — very difficult indeed — YES! I DON’T BELIEVE IT! HE’S SAVED IT!”

“Gryffindor in possession, no, Slytherin in possession — no! — Gryffindor back in possession and it’s Katie Bell, Katie Bell for Gryffindor with the Quaffle, she’s streaking up the field — THAT WAS DELIBERATE!”

Montague, a Slytherin Chaser, had swerved in front of Katie, and instead of seizing the Quaffle had grabbed her head. Katie cartwheeled in the air, managed to stay on her broom, but dropped the Quaffle.

Madam Hooch’s whistle rang out again as she soared over to Montague and began shouting at him. A minute later, Katie had put another penalty past the Slytherin Seeker.

“THIRTY–ZERO! TAKE THAT, YOU DIRTY, CHEATING —”

Professor McGonagall was on him in a heartbeat. “Jordan, if you can’t commentate in an unbiased way — !” 

“I’m telling it like it is, Professor!” Lee laughed as he turned back to the game. Emile was clenching her fists so tight her knuckles were turning white.

As Harry attempted to fly across the field the Slytherin beaters came at him from either side, clubs raised. Noticing them, Harry dived with ease at the last second, causing the two to run into each other.

“Ha haaa!” yelled Lee as the Slytherin Beaters lurched away from each other, clutching their heads. “Too bad, boys! You’ll need to get up earlier than that to beat a Firebolt! And it’s Gryffindor in possession again, as Johnson takes the Quaffle — Flint alongside her — poke him in the eye, Angelina! — it was a joke, Professor, it was a joke — oh no — Flint in possession, Flint flying toward the Gryffindor goal posts, come on now, Wood, save — !”

But Flint had scored; there was an eruption of cheers from the Slytherin end, and Lee swore so badly that Professor McGonagall tried to tug the magical megaphone away from him.

“Sorry, Professor, sorry! Won’t happen again! So, Gryffindor in the lead, thirty points to ten, and Gryffindor in possession —”

Emile was appalled by what she saw in front of her. It was possibly the most gruesome game of Quidditch she had ever witnessed. 

Enraged that Gryffindor had taken such an early lead, the Slytherins were rapidly resorting to any means to take the Quaffle. Bole hit Alicia with his club and tried to say he’d thought she was a Bludger. George Weasley elbowed Bole in the face in retaliation. Madam Hooch awarded both teams penalties, and Oliver pulled off another spectacular save, making the score forty-ten to Gryffindor.

Katie scored. Fifty-ten. Fred and George Weasley were swooping around her, clubs raised, in case any of the Slytherins were thinking of revenge. Bole and Derrick took advantage of Fred’s and George’s absence to aim both Bludgers at Wood; they caught him in the stomach, one after the other, and he rolled over in the air, clutching his broom, completely winded. 

Emile was shaking at this point, beginning to wish she had a bit more of that Calming Draught with her.

Madam Hooch was beside herself.

“YOU DO NOT ATTACK THE KEEPER UNLESS THE QUAFFLE IS WITHIN THE SCORING AREA!” she shrieked at Bole and Derrick. “Gryffindor penalty!”

And Angelina scored. Sixty-ten. Moments later, Fred Weasley pelted a Bludger at Warrington, knocking the Quaffle out of his hands; Alicia seized it and put it through the Slytherin goal — seventy-ten.

All eyes were following the seekers, who could end this game at any moment. Almost aware of the eyes on him, Harry burst upward on his Firebolt, only to be dragged down as Draco caught hold of it’s tail and was desperately holding on.

“Penalty! Penalty to Gryffindor! I’ve never seen such tactics!” Madam Hooch screeched, shooting up to where Malfoy was sliding back onto his Nimbus Two Thousand and One.

“YOU CHEATING SCUM!” Lee was howling into the megaphone, dancing out of Professor McGonagall’s reach. “YOU FILTHY, CHEATING B —”

Professor McGonagall didn’t even bother to tell him off. She was actually shaking her finger in Malfoy’s direction, her hat had fallen off, and she too was shouting furiously.

Alicia took Gryffindor’s penalty, but she was so angry she missed by several feet. The Gryffindor team was losing concentration and the Slytherins, delighted by Malfoy’s foul on Harry, were being spurred on to greater heights.

“Slytherin in possession, Slytherin heading for goal — Montague scores —” Lee groaned. “Seventy-twenty to Gryffindor. . . . Angelina Johnson gets the Quaffle for Gryffindor, come on, Angelina, COME ON!”

Harry dove at the Slytherins on his Firebolt, scattering them and leaving the space clear for Angelina.

“SHE SCORES! SHE SCORES! Gryffindor leads by eighty points to twenty!”

As Harry recovered from his dive he flew straight after Draco, who was chasing a streak of gold. As the two boys raced neck to neck it was hard to see who was in possession of the snitch, until Harry lifted his arm, the tiny golden ball in his hand.

The stadium exploded at that point. Everyone was cheering so loudly you couldn’t even hear Madame Hooche’s whistle. The Gryffindor sunk to the ground in a giant group hug before getting drowned in a sea of red and yellow. 

Emile and Lee cheered into the microphone as the team was lifted by the crowd and carried off to the tower.

“Well, if your last party lasted till one in the morning I have no doubt this one will last the whole night.” Professor McGonagall smiled before heading out, no doubt going to rub it in Professor Snape’s face that they had won.


	26. The End of the Year

It was the Sunday before OWL week. The fast two weeks of studying and stressing had left Emile in the hospital wing two more times. Lee even suggested she boil her own personal store of Calming Draught so that she wouldn’t have to keep getting more, and Emile punched him in the arm.

Oliver wasn’t really talking to her, but George had said that he constantly asked him how she was doing. After the Quidditch victory he had cried actual tears, to nobody’s surprise. Now he often strutted around the halls when he wasn’t studying alongside Percy for his NEWT’s. Emile knew that, like Fred and George, he had his future all planned and didn’t really care about exam results. He was going to play professional Quidditch, to nobody’s surprise.

“What have we got tomorrow?” Lee asked, flipping through a large pile of papers.

“Charms,” Emile replied, nervously rubbing her hands together. “Lets practice the growth charm again.”

Fred pulled out a few apple strudels he’d wiped from the dinner table and placed it in front of them. Together, they took out their wands and yelled “Engorgio!” At the strudel’s, smiling as they doubled in size.

“Snack break,” George sang as he took a bite of his strudel, grinning.

“I’ll eat once I’ve managed to complete each of these charms,” Emile huffed, concentrating on the levitation charm. She made her strudel fly around the common room before landing in front of her. 

“I’ll do some transfiguration too,” she grinned, vanishing George’s strudel as he was about to take another bite. Whoever said studying had to be boring?

The following morning, the fifth years ate breakfast in a solemn nervous huddle. Emile was quietly muttering charms between each bit of food, Angelina turned George’s milk blue. 

“Why do you guys do this to me?” He complained, changing his milk back.

“Because we love you,” Emile said, putting her arm around him.

After a written exam in which Emile nearly forgot the counter charm for hiccups, it was time for the practical exam. Emile was standing next to Lee in the testing room, and they had to perform cheering charms on each other. Emile’s was a bit too strong, and she had to help Lee exit the testing room, laughing.

“I’m so screwed,” Emile sighed as she sat down in the common room with Lee. 

“Everythings going to be all right.” Lee smiled up at her. 

By the time the ancient runes OWL was over on Friday, Emile was on the verge of another breakdown.

“I’m going to fail the potions exam,” she said as they sat around the fireplace saturday evening.

“Emile out of all the people here, you’re most likely to pass the exam,” George tried to comfort her.

She sighed and put her head on his shoulder. “Quiz me.”

“Name the ingredients in Polyjuice Potion.”  
“Lacewing flies, leeches, powdered bicorn horn, fluxweed picked on the full moon, shredded boomslang skin and a bit of whoever you plan to turn into.”

George laughed at put his arm around her shoulders. “See? No one else here could name that off the top of your head. You need to relax.”

“I try,” Emile sighed, sitting up and opening up the astronomy charts.

Monday’s Potions OWL went quickly, Emile was first in the class to complete it. She didn’t do too well in Care of Magical Creatures though. She couldn’t identify the knarl among a dozen hedgehogs and sustained a serious burn from the firecrabs. When she went to visit Madame Pomfrey the nurse gave her another dose of Calming Draught for her nerves.

“Do you get this stressed every year?” The nurse asked as she took Emile’s pulse.

“Yes, I usually do.” Emile sighed. 

“And you’ve never thought to come to me before this?” Madame Pomfrey shook her head. 

Emile left the hospital wing with a vial of Calming Draught in case of emergencies, and Madame Pomfrey told her to check back with her once exams were over.

The only exams Emile had left were in Divination, Astrology, and History of Magic. Divination was a bit hassled, Emile really didn’t care about the Professor who kept telling her cousin he was going to die. Astrology was easy now, thanks to Lee, so Emile did it with moderate ease. Leaving her History of Magic OWL she was pretty sure she forgot to mention the Goblin riots in her Essay.

“All we can do now is wait,” she said to Lee as they toasted to the end of the exams at dinner.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” he said as Emile chewed through a bite of ham. “You’ll definitely pass the ones you need to.”

Friday morning at breakfast a horrible rumor was going throughout the castle.

“A werewolf!” George exclaimed, jaw dropping. “How could Professor Lupin be a Werewolf?”

“It makes sense, the sick days and everything.” Emile shrugged and took a bite of sausage.

“But still,” Fred argued. “A whole school year and no one realized.”

“He quit this morning.” Lee chewed on some eggs as he spoke. “Poor bloke’s probably scared of being told off by parents.”

They got their exam results back at the end of the week. Hands shaking, Emile opened the official looking envelope.

Ordinary Wizarding Level Results

 

Pass Grades    Fail Grades

Outstanding (O) Poor (P)

Exceeds Expectations (E) Dreadful (D)

Acceptable (A) Troll (T)

 

Emile Victoria Gorska has achieved: 

Astronomy: O

Care of Magical Creatures: A

Charms: O

Defense Against the Dark Arts: E

Divination: P

Herbology: A

History of Magic: A

Potions: O

Transfiguration: E

 

Emile couldn’t believe her eyes. Three O’s, she’d gotten three O’s

“Three O’s!” Someone shouted. Lee was looking at her paper excitedly. “You’re better than the average student!”

“I can’t believe it!” Emile laughed and hugged Lee, jumping up and down.

“Emile!” Angelina ran up to her excitedly, showing off her paper. “I got an O in Defense Against the Dark Arts! I thought i’d failed that one!”  
“That’s what I thought about Potions!” Emile laughed and they jumped up and down excitedly. 

Percy had got his top-grade N.E.W.T.s; Fred and George had scraped a handful of O.W.L.s each. Gryffindor House meanwhile, largely thanks to their spectacular performance in the Quidditch Cup, had won the House championship for the third year running. This meant that the end of term feast took place amid decorations of scarlet and gold, and that the Gryffindor table was the noisiest of the lot, as everybody celebrated.

Soon the trunks were being packed and the walls were bare. The loft beds were deconstructed and replaced with the four poster beds. The common room was emptied and the goodbyes were being said.

On the train back, Emile sat with Angelina, Fred, George, and Lee. 

“I’ll be seeing you at the Quidditch World Cup, right?” Emile smiled at the twins hopefully.

“We’ll have to get back to you about that,” George grimaced as he looked over at Fred. 

“I’m sure our dad will find us tickets,” Fred shrugged as they exited the train.

Emile hugged the two of them tightly.

“You’d better write this summer.”

“Like you’d let us forget,” George teased as she let go and headed over to where Uncle Amos was waiting with her trunk.


	27. Whatever's Left of Normal

Emile stood in the entrance hall, impatiently tapping her foot. Today was a big day. 

It was June 30th, a normal summer day like any other. The sky was blue with a few clouds lazily floating across. The horses were grazing in the pastures and Mrs. Diggory was having her mid-morning tea, accompanied by some Ministry bigshot and his wife. But that wasn’t important.

Today, for the first time in many years, Emile was finally having friends over. Fred and George Weasley were coming for the weekend, Friday and Saturday night, and Emile had plans for them. 

At that moment the fire in the fireplace turned green and a familiar redhead emerged from it, coughing.

“Hi there, Em,” George smiled as he walked over to her in jeans and a t-shirt, a backpack slung over his shoulder. 

A moment later Fred appeared, in similar getup, but he was covered in soot.

“You’re not supposed to move around during trips by Floo Powder,” Emile scolded as he shook his head, black dusk falling from his hair.

“Yeah I realized. This shirt was originally white.”

After the two of them had gotten settled and Emile showed them around the house, it was time to meet Nepeta. They crossed the backyard over to the pasture fence, which Emile climbed over. Once she was on the other side, she let out a whistle and turned to watch the twins as her horse trotted over.

“Blimey,” George stared at Nepeta, jaw dropped. 

“It looks even better in person,” Fred said as he stood up on the railing of the fence, leaning over slightly.

“She’s not an it, she’s a who,” Emile cooed as she stroked Nepeta’s velvety nose.

She quickly fetched a few lead ropes from the barn, fetching Mr. Diggory’s horse, Meeko, and one of the carriage pulling horses, Jack, before tying up Nepeta.

“You two have been on horses before, right?” She said as she turned to the twins.

“Oh course,” Fred rolled his eyes and approached Meeko, petting the horses side as he did so.

“I had to ask, Lee didn’t know anything about horses,” Emile said as George pet Jack. “Come on then, untie the ropes and we can go get them saddled up.”

Once the horses had been brushed and the polished saddles put onto them, the trio set out across the yard and into the woods.

“You do this often, right?” Fred called a bit nervously after they had been in the woods for not even five minutes.

“Is someone scared of the forest?” Emile teased as George laughed and threw a pinecone at his brother.

Soon the group reached the meadow by the lake, which the twins gawked at. Emile let the horses graze as the three of them ate a small lunch she had packed.

“Did you two bring your swim trunks?” She asked as she finished a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 

“Yes but we aren’t exactly wearing them,” Fred winked at Emile. “Would you like us to change right here, right now?”

Emile rolled her eyes and punched Fred in the shoulder. “I’ve got a place for you two to change in private, don’t worry.”

“Who said I was worried,” he said innocently, his laughter turning into complaints as both Emile and George punched him in the side.

A few minutes of riding later, they approached the treehouse by the river. Emile dismounted Nepeta and tied her to one of the branches of the Cedar tree the treehouse was in.

“Come on,” she called to the boys, who were having difficulty dismounting. 

“You know this isn’t as easy as it looks,” George complained a moment before he succeeded in swinging his leg over the horse.

Emile climbed the ladder up into the treehouse, the twins following.

“Blimey Em,” Fred said as he climbed up, jaw dropping. “You built a livable tree house by yourself?”

“Darren helped,” she said as she unpacked her pack.

“Where is the famous stable boy?” George asked as Emile tossed them each a sleeping bag and pillow.

“On vacation to Italy to visit his ailing grandmother.”

The trio spent the rest of the evening setting up camp inside the treehouse and playing in the river. The twins gawked at the nature formed water slides until Emile pulled George onto one, slipping in herself and sliding down on his lap, screaming. 

Afterwards the twins built themselves a fort out of sticks and logs while Emile sat on a rock and doodled in her sketchbook. Once the two finished the main structure, they disappeared inside. After an unusually long silence, Emile walked over and stuck her head in. They had stopped working on the wall and were now digging inside, making the fort larger.

“You guys want to eat dinner soon?” She said as she climbed into the fort.

“Depends on what’s for dinner,” George said with a grin.

“Sausages roasted over a campfire, and s'mores.”

“Oh yes, definitely!” Fred said enthusiastically.

“Great, I’ll gather firewood,” Emile said as she left the twins in their fort and went about setting up dinner. 

Once she had gathered enough firewood and made a fire pit, Emile climbed into the treehouse and changed out of her swimsuit into shorts and a t-shirt. After she had climbed back down she got to work unsaddling the horses and letting them loose in a small pasture she had roped off among the tree’s.

The twins soon joined her by a steadily growing fire, dripping wet.

“We thought-t we ought to w-wash off the dirt,” Fred said through chattering teeth.

“You’re both so stupid, go change,” Emile shoved the two of them towards the tree house, smiling as they climbed up and waved from the window.

Soon the three of them were eating sausage and making toast over a warm fire. The sky was growing dark and Emile showed off her well earned O in Astrology by pointing out the constellations in the sky.

“There’s Orion!” She said excitedly, pointing above one of the tree’s at the familiar constellation. “You can tell by the three stars making up the belt, thats its most noticeable trait.”

“Blimey Em, we get it. You got an O in Astrology.” With a grin Fred rolled his eyes at George and took a bite out of his s’more. 

“Well at least I got an O,” Emile laughed.

“Don’t be rude,” he mumbled around his mouthful of marshmallow and chocolate.

“We get enough of that from our mother,” George rolled his eyes at Emile as he grabbed a marshmallow to toast.

Emile smiled and leaned back, breathing in the cool night air. Little did she know this would be the last normal night she spent with her friends in a long time.


	28. Welcome to the World Cup

“Over here, Arthur! Over here, son, we’ve got it!” 

Mr. Diggory’s shots woke Emile from where she was dozing beneath the tree atop a hill. They were on their way to the Quidditch World Cup. Cedric had woken her up very early that morning and the three of them had hiked out to where the portkey to the cup sat. The Weasley’s were set to join them at this portkey, much to Emile’s delight.

“Amos!” said Mr. Weasley, smiling as he strode over to the group. 

“This is Amos Diggory, everyone,” said Mr. Weasley after a moment, turning to the group of kids next to him. “He works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. And I think you know his son, Cedric,?”

“Nice to see you too, Mr. Weasley,” Emile grinned as walked over to the twins, who were grouchy and asleep on their feet. Bill was there, as was another redhead who had to be Charlie.

Hi,” said Cedric, looking around at them all. 

“Long walk, Arthur?” Uncle Amos  asked. 

“Not too bad,” said Mr. Weasley. “We live just on the other side of the village there. You?” 

“Had to get up at two, didn’t we, Ced? I tell you, I’ll be glad when he’s got his Apparition test. Still . . . not complaining . . . Quidditch World Cup, wouldn’t miss it for a sackful of Galleons — and the tickets cost about that. Mind you, looks like I got off easy. . . .” 

Amos Diggory peered good-naturedly around at the three Weasley boys, Harry, Hermione, and Ginny. “All these yours, Arthur?”

“Oh no, only the redheads,” said Mr. Weasley, pointing out his children. “This is Hermione, friend of Ron’s — and Harry, another friend —” 

“Merlin’s beard,” said Amos Diggory, his eyes widening. “Harry? Harry Potter?” 

“Er — yeah,” said Harry a bit awkwardly.

“Ced’s talked about you, of course,” said Amos Diggory. “Told us all about playing against you last year. . . . I said to him, I said — Ced, that’ll be something to tell your grandchildren, that will. . . . You beat Harry Potter!” 

Fred and George scowled next to Emile, who hadn’t warned them about the fierce pride Mr. Diggory had for his son.

Cedric looked slightly embarrassed. 

“Harry fell off his broom, Dad,” he muttered. “I told you . . . it was an accident. . . .” 

“Yes, but you didn’t fall off, did you?” roared Amos genially, slapping his son on his back. “Always modest, our Ced, always the gentleman . . . but the best man won, I’m sure Harry’d say the same, wouldn’t you, eh? One falls off his broom, one stays on, you don’t need to be a genius to tell which one’s the better flier!” 

“You must be Charlie, I’m Emile,” she said to the older redhead, attempting to forget the conversation behind her.

“Nice to meet you Emile,” he smiled and shook her hand. “I’ve heard a lot about you from the twins.”

“Don’t flatter her,” George mumbled next to her.

“It’ll inflate her ego even more,” Fred said through a yawn that turned to a groan as Emile elbowed him in the gut.

“Must be nearly time,” said Mr. Weasley quickly, pulling out his watch again. “Do you know whether we’re waiting for any more, Amos?” 

“No, the Lovegoods have been there for a week already and the Fawcetts couldn’t get tickets,” said Mr. Diggory. 

“There aren’t any more of us in this area, are there?” 

“Not that I know of,” said Mr. Weasley. “Yes, it’s a minute off. . . . We’d better get ready... You just need to touch the Portkey, that’s all, a finger will do —” 

With difficulty, owing to their bulky backpacks, the ten of them crowded around the old boot held out by Amos Diggory. 

“Three . . .” muttered Mr. Weasley, one eye still on his watch, “two . . . one . . .” 

A sudden jerk and swooping sensation surrounded Emile as she felt herself being pulled through the air, holding her breath until her feet slammed onto solid ground again. She clutched onto George’s arm for support as a voice sounded behind them.

“Seven past five from Stoatshead Hill,”

They had arrived on what appeared to be a deserted stretch of misty moor. In front of them was a pair of tired and grumpy-looking wizards, one of whom was holding a large gold watch, the other a thick roll of parchment and a quill. Both were dressed as Muggles, though very inexpertly: The man with the watch wore a tweed suit with thigh-length galoshes; his colleague, a kilt and a poncho. 

“Morning, Basil,” said Mr. Weasley, picking up the boot and handing it to the kilted wizard, who threw it into a large box of used Portkeys beside him.

“Hello there, Arthur,” said Basil wearily. “Not on duty, eh? It’s all right for some. . . . We’ve been here all night. . . . You’d better get out of the way, we’ve got a big party coming in from the Black Forest at five-fifteen. Hang on, I’ll find your campsite. . . . Weasley . . . � Weasley . . .” He consulted his parchment list. “About a quarter of a mile’s walk over there, first field you come to. Site manager’s called Mr. Roberts. Diggory . . . second field . . . ask for Mr. Payne.” 

“Thanks, Basil,” said Mr. Weasley, and he beckoned his group to follow him. 

“Will I see you guys later?”Emile said to the twins, who shrugged in response.

“It’s a huge place, Em,” Fred said with a yawn.

“Maybe we can get a message through to you,” George said with a wave as the Weasley group split off from them, walking off to talk to the manager of their field.

Mr. Diggory had gotten them a rather luxurious tent near the water tap. It looked just like any old muggle tent on the outside, but on the inside there were three separate bedrooms, two bathrooms, a sitting room, kitchen, and dining room.

Emile claimed the bedroom on the left side of the tent, unpacking her favorite pillow and putting it among the ones already on the bed. Then she took out her clothes and hung them in the closet and lit a scented candle on the nightstand, making the space seem a bit more homey.

“Cedric my boy,” Uncle Diggory’s booming voice sounded in the sitting room outside. “Go fetch us some water from the tap, we’ve got to make sure the muggles don’t suspect anything fishy.”

After a small silence he turned to Emile, as if he just remembered that she was there too. 

“Why don’t you go off into those nearby woods and gather up some firewood for a campfire?”

Emile obliged with a nod and walked out of the tent, admiring all the ones she passed on the way there. The Irish had overgrown their area with shamrocks, making their tents no more than holes in hillsides. And the Bulgarian’s had themselves a large wizard photo of Victor Krum, stone faced and silent.

“Emile?” She heard a familiar voice behind her.

Emile tried not to groan as she turned around, forcing a smile. “Hello, Oliver. How have you been?”

“Pretty good, actually. I’ve just been signed on for the Puddlemere United reserve team,” he beamed, puffing out his chest.

“That’s great, I’m very happy for you.” They stared at each other awkwardly.

“I, uh,” Oliver coughed before continuing,”I see you’re still wearing my bracelet.”

The silver charm of the Nimbus 2000 stood out on Emile’s wrist among the other woven bands and leather straps in her bracelet collection.

“Of course I’m wearing it,” she said a bit quietly, fingering the charms around her wrist. “The bracelets around my wrists are all from people who have been important to me at some point in my life.”

As Oliver opened his mouth to respond, a familiar heavy browed Bulgarian walked up to them and kissed Emile’s hand.

“Vlovely to see you again, Emile,” Victor Krum said, smiling at the two of them.

Oliver’s jaw dropped as he looked from Emile to the famed seeker and back to Emile again.

“Likewise, Victor.” Emile grinned, thankful for the interruption. “This is an old friend of mine, Oliver Wood. He was just signed onto the Puddlemere United reserve team.”

“Ah, another Quidditch player. I hope to play you in the future.” Victor bowed to Oliver, who was struggling to contain his excitement. 

“I should really be off collecting firewood,” Emile backed away from the two of them and speed walked away towards the woods, turning around once to see Oliver talking very fast and and making jerky hand motions as Victor nodded. She smiled and began to search for wood to take back to the tent.

As evening fell, Emile found herself walking alongside Cedric around the campsite, looking at all the merchandise the vendors were selling. She bought a pair of Omnioculars and a Bulgarian scarf with a roaring lion on it.

“I thought you support Ireland!” Cedric said indignantly as she replaced her Gryffindor scarf around her neck with the Bulgarian one.

“I do, but I don’t see any scarves from Ireland and It feels weird to be walking around in a school scarf.” Emile replaced the scarf around her neck, shivering at the momentary exposure to the evening wind. 

Soon a horn sounded, drawing everyone towards the field. Emile couldn’t believe the size of the Quidditch field. From the outside it looked huge, but when they got to their seats you could see that five cathedrals could fit inside the stadium with room to spare. They were sitting in the top box alongside Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge, the minister of Magic.

Ludo Bagman whipped out his wand, directed it at his own throat, and said “Sonorus!” and then spoke over the roar of sound that was now filling the packed stadium; his voice echoed over them, booming into every corner of the stands. 

“Ladies and gentlemen . . . welcome! Welcome to the final of the four hundred and twenty-second Quidditch World Cup!” 

The spectators screamed and clapped. Thousands of flags waved, adding their discordant national anthems to the racket. The huge blackboard opposite them was wiped clear of its last message (Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans — A Risk With Every Mouthful!) and now showed BULGARIA: 0, IRELAND: 0. 

“And now, without further ado, allow me to introduce . . . the Bulgarian National Team Mascots!” 

The right-hand side of the stands, which was a solid block of scarlet, roared its approval. 

A team of Veela, enchanting women with white blonde hair much like that of the Malfoys, came out and began dancing. Emile rolled her eyes and leaned back in her seat as members of the male gender all around became entranced by their mystical dancing.

Angry yells were filling the stadium. The crowd didn’t want the veela to go. Next to Emile Cedric had his hand over his heart and had stopped breathing.

“And now,” roared Ludo Bagman’s voice, “kindly put your wands in the air . . . for the Irish National Team Mascots!” 

Next moment, what seemed to be a great green-and-gold comet came zooming into the stadium. It did one circuit of the stadium, then split into two smaller comets, each hurtling toward the goal posts. A rainbow arced suddenly across the field, connecting the two balls of light. The crowd oooohed and aaaaahed, as though at a fireworks display. Now the rainbow faded and the balls of light reunited and merged; they had formed a great shimmering shamrock, which rose up into the sky and began to soar over the stands. The giant shamrock was made of tiny little leprechauns who showered the crowd in gold.

The great shamrock dissolved, the leprechauns drifted down onto the field on the opposite side from the veela, and settled themselves cross-legged to watch the match. 

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, kindly welcome — the Bulgarian National Quidditch Team! I give you — Dimitrov!” 

A scarlet-clad figure on a broomstick, moving so fast it was blurred, shot out onto the field from an entrance far below, to wild applause from the Bulgarian supporters. 

“Ivanova!” A second scarlet-robed player zoomed out. 

“Zograf! Levski! Vulchanov! Volkov! Aaaaaaand — Krum!”

Emile cheered with the rest of the crowd as her friend flew out of formation, pumping his fis in the air.

“And now, please greet — the Irish National Quidditch Team!” yelled Bagman. “Presenting — Connolly! Ryan! Troy! Mullet! Moran! Quigley! Aaaaaand — Lynch!” 

“And here, all the way from Egypt, our referee, acclaimed Chairwizard of the International Association of Quidditch, Hassan Mostafa!” 

A small and skinny wizard, completely bald but with a mustache, wearing robes of pure gold to match the stadium, strode out onto the field. A silver whistle was protruding from under the mustache, and he was carrying a large wooden crate under one arm, his broomstick under the other. 

Through the Omnioculars, Emile watched closely as Mostafa mounted his broomstick and kicked the crate open — four balls burst into the air: the scarlet Quaffle, the two black Bludgers, and the minuscule, winged Golden Snitch. With a sharp blast on his whistle, Mostafa shot into the air after the balls. 

“Theeeeeeeey’re OFF!” screamed Bagman. “And it’s Mullet! Troy! Moran! Dimitrov! Back to Mullet! Troy! Levski! Moran!”

Cedric was yelling next to her, his face digging into his Omnioculars.

“TROY SCORES!” roared Bagman, and the stadium shuddered with a roar of applause and cheers. “Ten zero to Ireland!” 

The Irish team was the dream team on the field today. They worked together flawlessly, leaving the veela on the right side of the field flipping their hair as they tried to act as if they didn’t care. As the match became more brutal the Veela’s resumed their dancing. At first they danced just when Bulgaria scored, but when Ireland received a penalty they didn’t stop.

Emile found herself laughing as the referee flew down to the veela and flexed his muscles as he watched them. One of them giggled and winked, causing him to smooth his mustache. 

“Now, we can’t have that!” said Ludo Bagman, though he sounded highly amused. “Somebody slap the referee!” 

A mediwizard came tearing across the field, his fingers stuffed into his own ears, and kicked Mostafa hard in the shins. Mostafa seemed to come to himself; he looked exceptionally embarrassed and had started shouting at the veela, who had stopped dancing and were looking mutinous. 

“And unless I’m much mistaken, Mostafa is actually attempting to send off the Bulgarian team mascots!” said Bagman’s voice. “Now there’s something we haven’t seen before. . . . Oh this could turn nasty. . . .” 

It did: The Bulgarian Beaters, Volkov and Vulchanov, landed on either side of Mostafa and began arguing furiously with him, gesticulating toward the leprechauns, who had now gleefully formed the words “HEE, HEE, HEE.” 

Mostafa was not impressed by the Bulgarians’ arguments, however; he was jabbing his finger into the air, clearly telling them to get flying again, and when they refused, he gave two short blasts on his whistle.

“Two penalties for Ireland!” shouted Bagman, and the Bulgarian crowd howled with anger. “And Volkov and Vulchanov had better get back on those brooms . . . yes . . . there they go . . . and Troy takes the Quaffle . . .” 

Play now reached a level of ferocity beyond anything they had yet seen. The Beaters on both sides were acting without mercy: Volkov and Vulchanov in particular seemed not to care whether their clubs made contact with Bludger or human as they swung them violently through the air. Dimitrov shot straight at Moran, who had the Quaffle, nearly knocking her off her broom. 

“Foul!” roared the Irish supporters as one, all standing up in a great wave of green.

“Foul!” echoed Ludo Bagman’s magically magnified voice. “Dimitrov skins Moran — deliberately flying to collide there — and it’s got to be another penalty — yes, there’s the whistle!” 

The leprechauns had risen into the air again, and this time, they formed a giant hand, which was making a very rude sign indeed at the veela across the field. At this, the veela lost control. Instead of dancing, they launched themselves across the field and began throwing what seemed to be handfuls of fire at the leprechauns. 

“Wow, what a woman,” Cedric said next to her as he stared at the Veela, a dazed expression on his face. 

At that moment their faces were elongating into sharp, cruel-beaked bird heads, and long, scaly wings were bursting from their shoulders. Cedric fell out of his seat in fright and Emile laughed out loud before helping him back up.

Ministry wizards were flooding onto the field to separate the veela and the leprechauns, but with little success; meanwhile, the pitched battle below was nothing to the one taking place above. 

“Levski — Dimitrov — Moran — Troy — Mullet — Ivanova — Moran again — Moran — MORAN SCORES!” 

But the cheers of the Irish supporters were barely heard over the shrieks of the veela, the blasts now issuing from the Ministry members’ wands, and the furious roars of the Bulgarians. 

The game recommenced immediately; now Levski had the Quaffle, now Dimitrov — The Irish Beater Quigley swung heavily at a passing Bludger, and hit it as hard as possible toward Krum, who did not duck quickly enough. It hit him full in the face. 

There was a deafening groan from the crowd; Krum’s nose looked broken, there was blood everywhere, but Hassan Mostafa didn’t blow his whistle. He had become distracted, and Emile couldn’t blame him; one of the veela had thrown a handful of fire and set his broom tail alight. 

“I hope he’s alright,” Emile fret as Krum fly by, blood streaming from his nose.

“Time-out! Ah, come on, he can’t play like that, look at him —” 

“Look at Lynch!” Uncle Amos yelled.

For the Irish Seeker had suddenly gone into a dive, and Emile was quite sure that this was no Wronski Feint; this was the real thing. . . . 

“He’s seen the Snitch!” Cedric shouted. “He’s seen it! Look at him go!” 

Half the crowd seemed to have realized what was happening; the Irish supporters rose in another great wave of green, screaming their Seeker on . . . but Krum was on his tail. How he could see where he was going, Harry had no idea; there were flecks of blood flying through the air behind him, but he was drawing level with Lynch now as the pair of them hurtled toward the ground again.

For the second time, Lynch hit the ground with tremendous force and was immediately stampeded by a horde of angry veela. 

“He’s got the snitch! He’s got the snitch!” Emile screamed next to Cedric, jumping up and down.

Krum, his red robes shining with blood from his nose, was rising gently into the air, his fist held high, a glint of gold in his hand. The scoreboard was flashing BULGARIA: 160, IRELAND: 170 across the crowd, who didn’t seem to have realized what had happened. Then, slowly, as though a great jumbo jet were revving up, the rumbling from the Ireland supporters grew louder and louder and erupted into screams of delight. 

“IRELAND WINS!” Bagman shouted, who like the Irish, seemed to be taken aback by the sudden end of the match.� “KRUM GETS THE SNITCH — BUT IRELAND WINS — good lord, I don’t think any of us were expecting that!” 

Emile put her Omnioculars to her eyes again. It was hard to see what was happening below, because leprechauns were zooming delightedly all over the field, but she could just make out Krum, surrounded by mediwizards. He looked surlier than ever and refused to let them mop him up. His team members were around him, shaking their heads and looking dejected; a short way away, the Irish players were dancing gleefully in a shower of gold descending from their mascots. Flags were waving all over the stadium, the Irish national anthem blared from all sides; the veela were shrinking back into their usual, beautiful selves now, though looking dispirited and forlorn. 

“Vell, ve fought bravely,” said a gloomy voice in front of Emile. She looked around; it was the Bulgarian Minister of Magic. 

“You can speak English!” said Fudge, sounding outraged. “And you’ve been letting me mime everything all day!” 

“Vell, it vos very funny,” said the Bulgarian minister, shrugging. 

“And as the Irish team performs a lap of honor, flanked by their mascots, the Quidditch World Cup itself is brought into the Top Box!” roared Bagman. 

The Top Box was magically illuminated so that everyone in the stands could see the inside. Squinting toward the entrance, two panting wizards came carrying a vast golden cup into the box, which they handed to Cornelius Fudge, who was still looking very disgruntled that he’d been using sign language all day for nothing. 

“Let’s have a really loud hand for the gallant losers — Bulgaria!” Bagman shouted.

And up the stairs into the box came the seven defeated Bulgarian players. The crowd below was applauding appreciatively; thousands and thousands of Omniocular lenses flashing and winking in their direction. 

One by one, the Bulgarians filed between the rows of seats in the box, and Bagman called out the name of each as they shook hands with their own minister and then with Fudge. Krum, who was last in line, looked a real mess. Two black eyes were blooming spectacularly on his bloody face. He was still holding the Snitch.

“Are you alright?” Emile said as he sat down behind her, wincing.

At that moment his name was announced and a deafening roar from the crowd blocked out his response. Emile gave a small smile and turned around.

Then came the Irish team. Aidan Lynch was being supported by Moran and Connolly; the second crash seemed to have dazed him and his eyes looked strangely unfocused. But he grinned � happily as Troy and Quigley lifted the Cup into the air and the crowd below thundered its approval. 

At last, when the Irish team had left the box to perform another lap of honor on their brooms (Aidan Lynch on the back of Connolly’s, clutching hard around his waist and still grinning in a bemused sort of way), Bagman pointed his wand at his throat and muttered, “Quietus.”

“They’ll be talking about this one for years,” he said hoarsely, “a really unexpected twist, that. . . . shame it couldn’t have lasted longer. . . . Ah yes. . . . yes, I owe you . . . how much?” 

For Fred and George had just scrambled over the backs of their seats and were standing in front of Ludo Bagman with broad grins on their faces, their hands outstretched. 

“Don’t tell your mother you’ve been gambling,” Mr. Weasley called from where he was sitting with Bill and Charlie.

They were soon caught up in the crowds now flooding out of the stadium and back to their campsites. Raucous singing was borne toward them on the night air as they retraced their steps along the lantern-lit path, and leprechauns kept shooting over their heads, cackling and waving their lanterns. 

Emile got permission from Uncle Amos to go visit the Weasley’s in their tent, and joined them for a cup of hot cocoa.  They were soon �chatting enjoyably about the match; Mr. Weasley got drawn into a disagreement about cobbing with Charlie, and it was only when Ginny fell asleep right at the tiny table and spilled hot chocolate all over the floor that Mr. Weasley called a halt to the verbal replays and insisted that everyone go to bed.

Emile followed Hermione and Ginny into their girls tent. Once Ginny was tucked into bed she talked with Hermione about the OWL’s for another half hour until Hermione said she was too tired to continue. Emile went over to the boys tent and talked with Bill and Charlie for a bit.

“Any particular reason you don’t want to go back to your tent?” Charlie asked with a grin.

“I’m not too excited to walk past all of the drunk Irish supporters celebrating,” Emile said with a shrug. “I’m not a large fan of drunk people.”

Charlie opened his mouth to respond as loud screams came from outside, followed by a stampede of feet. Mr. Weasley ran out of the tent as Bill let out a laugh.

“Sounds like the Irish have got their pride on,” Bill smiled as Mr. Weasley ran over to them, gasping.

“That’s not the Irish.You guys have to go.” Mr. Weasley drew his wand and ran over to the rooms. “Charlie, go outside and help. Bill, wake the twins. Emile, go get the girls.”

Emile nodded and ran to the next door tent, momentarily passing through the chaos outside and running into the girls tent.

“Wake up, wake up you two! Can’t you hear the screams?!” She yelled as she shook the girls awake. Once they two of them had pulled on shoes and a jacket, they ran back to the boys tent, wands drawn. Emile nearly ran into the twins outside, and the group joined together.

“We’re supposed to get back to the portkey!” Fred yelled, grabbing Ginny’s hand and pulling her into the crowd.

George copied his brother and grabbed Emile, the two of them squeezing each other as they followed Fred through the crowd. Emile thought she caught a glimpse of Percy and Charlie at one point but there was too much going on to be sure. 

It was chaos. A crowd of wizards, tightly packed and moving together with wands pointing straight upward, was marching slowly across the field, their heads were hooded and their faces masked. High above them, floating along in midair, four struggling figures were being contorted into grotesque shapes. It was as though the masked wizards on the ground were puppeteers, and the people above them were marionettes operated by invisible strings that rose from the wands into the air. Two of the figures were very small. 

More wizards were joining the marching group, laughing and pointing up at the floating bodies. Tents crumpled and fell as the marching crowd swelled. Once or twice one of the marchers blasted a tent out of his way with his wand. Several caught fire. The screaming grew louder. The floating people were suddenly illuminated as they passed over a burning tent and Emile recognized one of them: Mr. Roberts, the campsite manager. The other three looked as though they might be his wife and children. One of the marchers below flipped Mrs. Roberts upside down with his wand; her nightdress fell down to reveal voluminous drawers and she struggled to cover herself up as the crowd below her screeched and hooted with glee.

“Don’t look at them Emile, just run!” George yelled, pulling her along with the crowd. 

At that moment a tent next to them was struck by a fiery blast, sending the two of them flying through the air. George flew one way and Emile the other, the burning tent between them. As Emile struggled to get up amongst the running crowd, she was vaguely aware of George calling her name in the distance. Before she could get up a boot hit her on the back and pinned her to the ground, facedown in the dirt.

“Say hello to your mother for me,” a rough voice growled into her ear. 

Emile opened her mouth into a silent scream as her world caught on fire before turning black.


	29. The Triwizard Tournament

It was very cold. That was the first thought Emile registered when she awoke. She didn't open her eyes yet, but she was aware of being awake. She was aware of the paper thin sheets against her nude body as she hesitantly moved her fingers. She was aware of her ears registering the crackling noise the paper sheets made.

Slowly Emile wiggled her fingers and toes, glad to be able to move again. She forced one of her eyes open, then the other. In front of her was a wooden door. The walls in the room were white. Emile immediately recognized her surroundings as those of St. Mungo's hospital.

Emile panicked and attempted to sit up in bed as a tired looking nurse entered the room, reading off her clipboard. She gasped as she caught sight of Emile, sitting up in the hospital bed in nothing but a paper gown.

"She's awake," the nurse whispered, dropping her clipboard.

"She's awake!" The nurse yelled, running out of the room.

A moment later a group of healers ran into the room, wands drawn and bottles in hand.

Emile was immediately bombarded with questions, and to be honest she didn't completely understand what was going on until a senior healer came in and chased the others out.

"I suspect you don't understand much of what's going on at the moment," he said in a gentle voice as a nurse began to check Emile's vitals.

"The last thing I remember is running from the death eaters at the world cup with George and Fred."

A sudden pain in her head caused Emile to gasp and put her hand over her forehead. The nurse quickly got to work adjusting something on Emile's neck she hadn't noticed until now. When she was finished Emile leaned back as the nurse adjusted the bed so that she could sit up.

"Let's start with the basics," the healer said kindly as the nurse left the room. "What is your name?"

"Emile Victoria Gorska."

"Where do you live?"

"The Diggory manor."

"Who are your parents?"

"Piotr Gorski and Alice Longbottom."

With a nod the healer scribbled something on a clipboard without looking at Emile.

"So what exactly happened?" She asked after a moment.

"Well, at the death eater rally you were struck on the back with Fiendfyre, the cursed fire, resulting in damage to your back and neck. We have cleared up a majority of the scarring, but we are afraid your hair won't grow back the way it once was."

Emile started at the healer, trying to take in this information. The only thought forming in her mind was 'I need to get a haircut.'

That afternoon, Mrs. Diggory came by and released her from the hospital. The first thing they did after leaving the hospital was go to Diagon Alley to a wizarding hair salon so that Emile could get her hair taken care of. The messy waterfall of dirty blonde was now charred to uneven lengths around her neck.

Two hours later Emile was sitting outside a tea shop in a turtleneck sweater listening to Mrs. Diggory ramble about how much better her hair looked now. It was a fiery shade of auburn and ended just below her chin, the poofy layers and side bangs framing her face.

It was September 1st, and Emile was going to travel to Hogwarts by floo powder that evening. When they returned to the manor Emile found her books sitting on her bed. Cedric had bought them for her when he had gone to Diagon Alley a week ago, according to Mrs. Diggory.

After a much needed shower and a rushed packing of items Emile was in her robes by the fire, a Gryffindor scarf wrapped around her neck to hide the scars.

When the clock struck six she grasped a handful of floo powder and threw it into the fire, walking through with her trunk and Carrots cage after yelling “Hogwarts!”

She spun out of a fireplace in the familiar great hall, nearly stumbling into a familiar professor.

“Lily?” Professor Snape gasped as Emile’s glasses fell off of her face.

“Pardon?” She said, picking them up and wiping them off on her scarf.

“Oh, Miss Gorska. May I inquire as to why you did not take the train to school?”

Emile frowned at the professor as she picked up her trunk again. “I wasn’t on the train because I was released from St. Mungo’s an hour after it departed.”

“Is that why you have changed your hair, Miss Gorska?”

“Now that’s a bit personal, wouldn’t you say so Professor Snape?” Emile tried to tease as she put the trunk down outside the hall, breathing heavily.

“I simply wish to know if any problems with your health will prevent you from attending my classes this year. I saw that you are taking NEWT level Potions.” Professor Snape took out his wand and pointed it at her trunk and Carrot’s cage, levitating both. “You may go sit down at the Gryffindor table, I believe your classmates should be here momentarily.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Emile smiled at the Potions master before walking back into the great hall and sitting at the Gryffindor table. Soon people were flooding into the great hall, Cedric among the first.

“Em!” He called, rushing over and giving her a hug before pinning something onto her robes. It was her Prefect badge. “You look great, I’m glad you’re alright,” he said with a grin before patting her on the shoulder and heading over to the Hufflepuff table.

A moment later, Fred and George walked in with Lee and Angelina, the group of them whispering amongst themselves. Emile immediately stood up and ran over to the group, throwing her arms around the lot of them. 

“Excuse me but who are-” George broke off and stared at her, a shocked look on his face. “Emile?”

“Emile!” Angelina yelled, hugging her back. 

Soon everyone was hugging her and they walked over to the table, tears in Emile’s eyes. She self consciously wiped them away as she sat down between Angelina and George, a smile on her face.

“I don’t say this to many girls Em, but damn!” Fred laughed across from her. “You look great!”

“What happened to you?” George asked, still looking concerned. “I lost you in the crowd and you didn’t respond to any of our letters-”

“Your letters,” Fred interrupted with a grin. “Not that I wasn’t concerned, George is just better at writing.”

“Shut it, Fred.” George said, a small smile on his face.

“Well, I woke up just this morning at St. Mungo’s-” Emile was interrupted by all four of her friends as they each began asking questions.

“Shut up!” She yelled, putting her hand over George’s mouth, a small smile on her face. “I bet that if you listened a moment longer your question would be answered.”

“Anyway’s, I woke up at St. Mungo’s just this morning. At the world cup something happened and I got in the way of some FIendfyre. It burned a lot of my hair off and I had to get it magically altered. And I’ve also got some pretty bad scars on my neck now, unfortunately. But I got a potion that should help them fade in a month or so.”

Emile paused and looked around the group. “Any questions?”

“No that’s a pretty decent explanation.” Fred grinned.

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” George said next to her as Angelina nodded. “I probably wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if you had died that night.”

“Aw, George,” Emile smiled and put her head on his shoulder. “Don’t you worry about me.”

“Your hair is so soft now,” Angelina gushed as she pet Emile’s head, causing Lee to laugh for the first time.

“I’m glad you’re alright Em, I don’t think I could have done a good job of showing the first year’s to the common room.”

After a delicious feast of mashed potatoes, ham, and chocolate gateau, Dumbledore stood up to give his speech. 

“So!” said Dumbledore, smiling around at them all. “Now that we are all fed and watered, I must once more ask for your attention, while I give out a few notices.” 

“Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me to tell you that the list of objects forbidden inside the castle has this year been extended to include Screaming Yo-yos, Fanged Frisbees, and Ever-Bashing Boomerangs. The full list comprises some four hundred and thirty seven items, I believe, and can be viewed in Mr. Filch’s office, if anybody would like to check it.” The corners of Dumbledore’s mouth twitched. 

He continued, “As ever, I would like to remind you all that the forest on the grounds is out-of-bounds to students, as is the village of Hogsmeade to all below third year. “It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will not take place this year.” 

Gasps and mutters sounded from each of the house tables as Dumbledore made this comment. Fred and George were mouthing soundlessly at Dumbledore, too appalled to speak.

“This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers’ time and energy — but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts —” 

But at that moment, there was a deafening rumble of thunder and the doors of the Great Hall banged open. A man stood in the doorway, leaning upon a long staff, shrouded in a black traveling cloak. Every head in the Great Hall swiveled toward the stranger, suddenly brightly illuminated by a fork of lightning that flashed across the ceiling. He lowered his hood, shook out a long mane of grizzled, dark gray hair, then began to walk up toward the teacher’s table. 

The strange man's face looked as though it had been carved out of weathered wood by someone who had only the vaguest idea of what human faces are supposed to look like, and was none too skilled with a chisel. Every inch of skin seemed to be scarred. The mouth looked like a diagonal gash, and a large chunk of the nose was missing. 

But it was the man’s eyes that made him frightening. One of them was small, dark, and beady. The other was large, round as a coin, and a vivid, electric blue. The blue eye was mov� ing ceaselessly, without blinking, and was rolling up, down, and from side to side, quite independently of the normal eye — and then it rolled right over, pointing into the back of the man’s head, so that all they could see was whiteness. 

The stranger reached Dumbledore. He stretched out a hand that was as badly scarred as his face, and Dumbledore shook it, muttering words Emile couldn’t hear. He seemed to be making some inquiry of the stranger, who shook his head unsmilingly and replied in an undertone. Dumbledore nodded and gestured the man to the empty seat on his right-hand side. 

“May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher?” said Dumbledore brightly into the silence. “Professor Moody.” 

It was usual for new staff members to be greeted with applause, but none of the staff or students clapped except Dumbledore and Hagrid, who both put their hands together and applauded, but the sound echoed dismally into the silence, and they stopped fairly quickly. Everyone else seemed too transfixed by Moody’s bizarre appearance to do more than stare at him. 

Moody seemed totally indifferent to his less-than-warm welcome. Ignoring the jug of pumpkin juice in front of him, he reached again into his traveling cloak, pulled out a hip flask, and took a long draught from it. As he lifted his arm to drink, his cloak was pulled a few inches from the ground, and below the table, several inches of carved wooden leg could be seen, ending in a clawed foot. 

Dumbledore cleared his throat. “As I was saying,” he said, smiling at the sea of students before him, all of whom were still gazing transfixed at Mad-Eye Moody, “we are to have the honor of hosting a very exciting event over the coming months, an event that has not been held for over a century. It is my very great pleasure to inform you that the Triwizard Tournament will be taking place at Hogwarts this year.” 

“You’re JOKING!” said Fred loudly. 

The tension that had filled the Hall ever since Moody’s arrival suddenly broke. Nearly everyone laughed, and Dumbledore chuckled appreciatively. 

“I am not joking, Mr. Weasley,” he said, “though now that you mention it, I did hear an excellent one over the summer about a troll, a hag, and a leprechaun who all go into a bar . . .” 

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat loudly. 

“Er — but maybe this is not the time . . . no . . .” said Dumbledore, “where was I? Ah yes, the Triwizard Tournament . . . well, some of you will not know what this tournament involves, so I� hope those who do know will forgive me for giving a short explanation, and allow their attention to wander freely. The Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry: Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the tournament once every five years, and it was generally agreed to be a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witches and wizards of different nationalities — until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the tournament was discontinued.” 

“Death toll?” Angelina muttered nervously next to Emile, who shrugged. She hadn’t heard of the tournament before.

“There have been several attempts over the centuries to reinstate the tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “none of which has been very successful. However, our own departments of International Magical Cooperation and Magical Games and Sports have decided the time is ripe for another attempt. We have worked hard over the summer to ensure that this time, no champion will find himself or herself in mortal danger.” 

“The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their short-listed contenders in October, and the selection of the three champions will take place at Halloween. An impartial judge will decide which students are most worthy to compete for� the Triwizard Cup, the glory of their school, and a thousand Galleons personal prize money.” 

“I’m going for it!” Fred hissed down the table, his face lit with enthusiasm at the prospect of such glory and riches.

Emile wasn’t so sure. What use was all that money if you were dead?

“Eager though I know all of you will be to bring the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts,” he said, “the heads of the participating schools, along with the Ministry of Magic, have agreed to impose an age restriction on contenders this year. Only students who are of age — that is to say, seventeen years or older — will be allowed to put forward their names for consideration. This” — Dumbledore raised his voice slightly, for several people had made noises of outrage at these words, and the Weasley twins were suddenly looking furious — “is a measure we feel is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will still be difficult and dangerous, whatever precautions we take, and it is highly unlikely that students below sixth and seventh year will be able to cope with them. I will personally be ensuring that no underage student hoodwinks our impartial judge into making them Hogwarts champion.” 

His light blue eyes twinkled as they flickered over Fred’s and George’s mutinous faces. “I therefore beg you not to waste your time submitting yourself if you are under seventeen. 

“The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving in October and remaining with us for the greater part of this year. I know that you will all extend every courtesy to our foreign guests while they are with us, and will give your whole-hearted support to the Hogwarts champion when he or she is selected. And now, it is late, and I know how important it is to you all to be alert and rested as you enter your lessons tomorrow morning. Bedtime! Chop chop!” 

Dumbledore sat down again and turned to talk to Mad-Eye Moody. There was a great scraping and banging as all the students got to their feet and swarmed toward the double doors into the entrance hall.

“They can’t do that!” said George , who had not joined the crowd moving toward the door, but was standing up and glaring at Dumbledore. “We’re seventeen in April, why can’t we have a shot?” 

“They’re not stopping me entering,” said Fred stubbornly, also scowling at the top table. “The champions’ll get to do all sorts of stuff you’d never be allowed to do normally. And a thousand Galleons prize money!” 

Before Emile could lecture them, Lee tugged at her arm and pulled her over to a scared looking group of first years.

“Right,” she said aloud, standing in front of them. “Come on you lot, I’ll show you the most direct route to the common room. My name is Emile, and this is Lee. Feel free to come to us with any questions you have.”

“Are you going to enter in the competition?” A young boy who looked an awful lot like Colin Creevey asked as they left the great hall.

“Do I look like I want to die an early death?” Emile asked with a smile. “No thank you. I’ve already got a bunch of money saved up for when I leave, I don’t need more.”

“But imagine the fame!” The kid argued as they approached the moving staircases.

“All I can imagine is a streak of publicity that ends in a month,” Emile said, causing Lee to laugh next to her.

“Balderdash,” he said to the fat lady as they approached, the portrait door swinging open. 

The two prefects grinned at each other as the first years gasped in astonishment at the common room.

“Boys on the left, girls on the right!” Emile called out, leading the girls up to their dormitories before heading back down to the common room.

“George!” She yelled as she spotted him by the fire with his brother.

“Hey Em. Is something wrong?”

“Is something wrong? My best friends are trying to get themselves killed, for starters.”

Fred laughed as she spoke, rolling his eyes. “You don’t actually believe the death toll thing, do you? That’s something Dumbledore made up to scare us.”

“How could you be so stupid?” Emile could feel her eyes getting hot, and she gave them a self conscious swipe with her sleeve.

“Em?” George said, but was interrupted by his brother.

“Stupid are we? Well, I’m sorry we weren’t all raised on fancy manors with galleons in our pockets to spare.” Fred was getting defensive, and Emile didn’t want to get into a fight but something snapped.

“You don’t know anything about me, Fred Weasley.” A few tears slid down her face, and she bit her lip nervously.

“Yeah, because you don’t trust us enough to tell us anything.” Fred crossed his arms and turned away from her, walking towards the boys dormitory.

Emile sat down on the ground by the fire and wiped her face with her scarf. After a moment, George sat down next to her.

“I just don’t want anyone else I care about to leave me,” she whispered as George put his arm around her and she put her head on his shoulder.

“We would understand if you told us.” He said quietly after a moment.

“What is there to understand? My mother’s gone, my fathers in prison, my grandparents are dead and the rest of my extended family is scattered all over the globe. I don’t have anyone.” 

As soon as the words came out Emile put her hands over her mouth and stood up, leaving common room. She went through the castle to Madame Pomfrey, who gave her a small teaspoon of Calming Draught mixed into a cup of warm milk and honey as she applied the special potion to her scarred neck.

“Fiendfyre, huh? You are one lucky gal to get away with just a scarred neck and a haircut.” She rambled as Emile felt herself dozing off. 

Once the potion had been applied and a fresh bandage wrapped around her neck for the night Madame Pomfrey escorted Emile back to the now empty Gryffindor common room. Emile headed up to her dormitory to find that her bed, this time in the corner, had already been reconstructed into a loft bed. With an exhausted promise to unpack tomorrow Emile hastily put on pajamas and slid underneath the warm quilts, feeling relieved when sleep finally overcame her.

The next morning at breakfast, Emile sat by Angelina, ignoring the hovering presence of Fred and George Weasley as she nervously rambled to her roommate about the NEWT courses. Emile was taking Potions, Astrology, History of Magic, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“Did you see that we needed dress robes this year for school?” Angelina said through a mouthful of egg.

“No, I didn’t,” Emile stared at her roommate. “I guess I’ll need to get some at Hogsmeade.”

“That’s what I was planning to do! We can go together, it’ll be so much fun!” Angelina squealed.

“So it’s a date?” Emile asked with a smile.

“It’s a date,” Angelina greed and the two girls high fived.

Just then a particularly loud comment about methods one can magically age himself caught Emile’s attention. She turned to see Fred, George and Lee sitting a few people down, and Fred was staring right at her.

“I have to go,” she said hurriedly to Angelina, wrapping her scarf tightly around her neck as she walked out of the great hall to the potions room for her first lesson.

After two engaging lessons of Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts, Emile headed down to lunch. As she passed the courtyard a rather odd sight of Mad Eye Moody bouncing a ferret in the air while Crabbe and Goyle stared caught her attention. She approached the little scene at the same time as a distressed Professor McGonogall. 

“Professor Moody!” She said in a shocked voice. 

“Hello, Professor McGonagall,” said Moody calmly, bouncing the ferret still higher. 

“What — what are you doing?” said Professor McGonagall, her eyes following the bouncing ferret’s progress through the air.

“Teaching,” said Moody. 

“Teach — Moody, is that a student?” shrieked Professor McGonagall, the books spilling out of her arms. 

“Yep,” said Moody. 

“No!” cried Professor McGonagall, running down the stairs and pulling out her wand; a moment later, with a loud snapping noise, Draco Malfoy had reappeared, lying in a heap on the floor with his sleek blond hair all over his now brilliantly pink face. He got to his feet, wincing. 

“Moody, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment!” said Professor McGonagall weakly. “Surely Professor Dumbledore told you that?” 

“He might’ve mentioned it, yeah,” said Moody, scratching his chin unconcernedly, “but I thought a good sharp shock —” 

“We give detentions, Moody! Or speak to the offender’s Head of House!” 

“I’ll do that, then,” said Moody, staring at Malfoy with great dislike. Malfoy, whose pale eyes were still watering with pain and humiliation, looked malevolently up at Moody and muttered something in which the words “my father” were distinguishable. 

“Oh yeah?” said Moody quietly, limping forward a few steps, the dull clunk of his wooden leg echoing around the hall. “Well, I know your father of old, boy. . . . You tell him Moody’s keeping a close eye on his son . . . you tell him that from me. . . . Now, your Head of House’ll be Snape, will it?” 

“Yes,” said Malfoy resentfully.

“Another old friend,” growled Moody. “I’ve been looking forward to a chat with old Snape. . . . Come on, you. . . .” And he seized Malfoy’s upper arm and marched him off toward the dungeons. 

Professor McGonagall stared anxiously after them for a few moments, then waved her wand at her fallen books, causing them to soar up into the air and back into her arms. 

Emile followed the large crowd who had stopped to watch the scene into the great hall, pausing at the entrance as she caught sight of the twins and Lee with Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

She turned around and headed to the library, suddenly not feeling all that hungry.

That Thursday, Emile was heading up to ask Professor Moody a question on his assignment when she ran into Neville, who was heading down from the room with a vacant expression and a book under his arm.

“Good day Emile!” He called as she drew nearer.

“Hello Neville, what are you doing here so late? Hasn’t your class been over for a while?” Emile paused on the steps for a moment, leaning against the railing to catch her breath. 

“Yeah, but Moody kept me after. We were learning about the Unforgivable Curses and he wanted to make sure I was alright after seeing the Cruciatus Curse, considering what it did to my-” his ears turned red and he dropped his book, fumbling for words.

“Considering what the curse did to your mother,” Emile finished quietly as he picked up his book, his entire face red now.

“How do you know about that?” He whispered angrily.

“My Un- um well I know Cedric’s parent’s well, I’ve lived with them for years. I’ve heard Mr. Diggory talk about what happened to his sister.” Emile congratulated herself on another convincing lie, grumbling on the inside. 

“That makes sense,” he said quietly, letting out a sigh.”I’m proud to be their son, they endured so much pain and survived, but i’m not ready to everyone about that yet.”

Emile smiled and put her hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.”

With a grateful smile, Neville headed down the stairs and Emile continued up to Professor Moody’s room, not very surprised to find him waiting by the door.

“Alright there Emile?” He grunted as he held the door open for her before hobbling in himself.

“Yes Professor, I just had a question about the assignment you gave.” Emile pulled out a quill and a roll of parchment from her bookbag, unrolling it eagerly. “I was wondering if you would consider this an acceptable definition of the Cruciatus Curse?”

Professor Moody barely looked over the paper before giving her a look. 

“Miss Gorska, I think we both know you can write more on the Cruciatus Curse. You aren’t your half brother.”

“How did you-”

“An old man like me, obviously I knew your mother. We had something of a history.” Mad Eye’s eye spun in his socket as he spoke, making Emile nervous.

“I heard about what happened at the World Cup, Fiendfyre eh? What do you remember about your assailant?”

“Why do you want to know?” Emile frowned as she rolled her parchment back up.

“I’ve caught a mess of dark wizards in my day Miss Gorska. I was just curious if this particular person may have been an, an old friend of mine.”

Emile swallowed nervously. “To tell you the truth I can’t remember anything about them, or what happened. The last thing I remember is running away with George and after that I -agh!” Emil grabbed her neck with both hands as a hot current ran through her scars.

“Perhaps you ought to go to Madame Pomfrey,” Mad Eye suggested after a moment, handing Emile her bookbag.

That’s exactly what she did.


	30. Beauxbaton and Durmstrang

TRIWIZARD TOURNAMENT

The delegations from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving at 6 o’clock on Friday the 30th of October. Lessons will end half an hour early. Students will return their bags and books to their dormitories and assemble in front of the castle to greet our guests before the Welcoming Feast.

Emile read the notice over once more, taking it in. She didn’t have any classes on Friday’s so it didn’t really apply to her, but she had to be sure to be outside of the school on time.

“Em!” Lee called as he ran over to her. “I see you saw the notice, what do you reckon the other schools are like?”

“Like us but with accents,” Emile smiled as she sat down on one of the common room sofas. “Honestly Lee, I don’t think there will be too much to worry about. I heard Professor McGonagall talking about it this morning at Breakfast, and it looks like whatever method of transportation they are using to get here will also be where they sleep.”

“I bet the french girls are attractive,” Lee said dreamily as he sat down across from her. She threw a pillow at him.

“Lee!” The twins ran over and sat down next to him.

“Did you see the board?” Fred asked excitedly, ignoring Emile.

With a sigh she stood up from the sofa and left the common room, on her way to Madame Pomfrey’s for her last application of the potion.

“Emile!” George called after her as she left.

As she reached the moving staircases she felt someone grab her arm. Fred was standing there, gasping for breath.

“You, walk, fast.” He wheezed, hanging onto her arm.

“What do you want, Fred?” Emile frowned at him as he let go, self consciously tucking her bangs behind her ear.

“I- um.” The redhead tugged at the collar around his throat. “I just wanted to apologize for being rude and ignoring you. George told us what you said afterwards, and I understand why you’re concerned.”

“I just don’t want anyone else to leave,” she said quietly. “It’s stupid, because people always leave.”

“Come here you big lump.” Fred drew her in for a hug, and she hugged him back.

“I’ve got to Madame Pomfrey,” Emile said as he let go. “See you in the common room?”

“Sure, you can help us attempt to blackmail a certain git who owes us money.”

Everyone and everything was feeling the excitement building in the castle. The castle seemed to be undergoing an extra-thorough cleaning. Several grimy portraits had been scrubbed, much to the displeasure of their subjects, who sat huddled in their frames muttering darkly and wincing as they felt their raw pink faces. The suits of armor were suddenly gleaming and moving without squeaking, and Argus Filch, the caretaker, was behaving so ferociously to any students who forgot to wipe their shoes that he terrified a pair of first-year girls into hysterics.

When they went down to breakfast on the morning of the thirtieth of October, they found that the Great Hall had been decorated overnight. Enormous silk banners hung from the walls, each of them representing a Hogwarts House: red with a gold lion for Gryffindor, blue with a bronze eagle for Ravenclaw, yellow with a black badger for Hufflepuff, and green with a silver serpent for Slytherin. Behind the teacher’s table, the largest banner of all bore the Hogwarts coat of arms: lion, eagle, badger, and snake united around a large letter H.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down beside Emile, Fred, and George at the Gryffindor table.

“It’s a bummer, all right,” George was saying gloomily to Fred. “But if he won’t talk to us in person, we’ll have to send him the letter after all. Or we’ll stuff it into his hand. He can’t avoid us forever.”

“Who’s avoiding you?” said Ron, sitting down next to them.

“Wish you would,” said Fred, looking irritated at the interruption.

“What’s a bummer?” Ron asked George.

“Having a nosy git like you for a brother,” said George.

“You two got any ideas on the Triwizard Tournament yet?” Harry asked, much to the disapproval of Emile.

“I asked McGonagall how the champions are chosen but she wasn’t telling,” said George bitterly. “She just told me to shut up and get on with transfiguring my raccoon.”

“Wonder what the tasks are going to be?” said Ron thoughtfully. “You know, I bet we could do them, Harry. We’ve done dangerous stuff before. . . .”

“Not in front of a panel of judges, you haven’t,” said Fred. “McGonagall says the champions get awarded points according to how well they’ve done the tasks.”

“Who are the judges?” Harry asked.

“Well, the Heads of the participating schools are always on the panel,” said Hermione, and everyone looked around at her, rather surprised, “because all three of them were injured during the Tournament of 1792, when a cockatrice the champions were supposed to be catching went on the rampage.”

There was a pleasant feeling of anticipation in the air that friday. Nobody was very attentive in lessons, being much more interested in the arrival that evening of the people from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang.

When the bell rang Emile left the library with Lee and went down to the entrance hall.The Heads of Houses were ordering their students into lines.

“Weasley, straighten your hat,” Professor McGonagall snapped at Ron. “Miss Patil, take that ridiculous thing out of your hair.”

Parvati scowled and removed a large ornamental butterfly from the end of her plait.

“Follow me, please,” said Professor McGonagall. “First years in front . . . no pushing. . . .”

They filed down the steps and lined up in front of the castle. It was a cold, clear evening; dusk was falling and a pale, transparent looking moon was already shining over the Forbidden Forest. Emile shivered slightly as a cold breeze blew around her.

“How are you cold?” George whispered into her ear. “You’re wearing a sweater and a scarf under your robe!”

“George, you should know by now that I’m a cold blooded creature,” Emile whispered back a moment before she received a smoldering look from Professor Snape.

And then Dumbledore called out from the back row where he stood with the other teachers — “Aha! Unless I am very much mistaken, the delegation from Beauxbatons approaches!”

“Where?” said many students eagerly, all looking in different directions.

“There!” yelled Emile, pointing over the forest.

Something large, much larger than a broomstick — or, indeed, a hundred broomsticks — was hurtling across the deep blue sky toward the castle, growing larger all the time.

“It’s a dragon!” shrieked one of the first years, losing her head completely.

“Don’t be stupid . . . it’s a flying house!” Said another.

His guess was closer. . . . As the gigantic black shape skimmed over the treetops of the Forbidden Forest and the lights shining from the castle windows hit it, they saw a gigantic, powderblue, horse-drawn carriage, the size of a large house, soaring toward them, pulled through the air by a dozen winged horses, all palominos, and each the size of an elephant. The front three rows of students drew backward as the carriage hurtled ever lower, coming in to land at a tremendous speed — then, with an almighty crash that made Neville jump backward onto a Slytherin fifth year’s foot, the horses’ hooves, larger than dinner plates, hit the ground. A second later, the carriage landed too, bouncing upon its vast wheels, while the golden horses tossed their enormous heads and rolled large, fiery red eyes.

A boy in pale blue robes jumped down from the carriage, bent forward, fumbled for a moment with something on the carriage floor, and unfolded a set of golden steps. He sprang back respectfully. Out of the carriage stepped the largest woman Emile had ever seen.

As she stepped into the light flooding from the entrance hall, she was revealed to have a handsome, olive-skinned face; large, black, liquid-looking eyes; and a rather beaky nose. Her hair was drawn back in a shining knob at the base of her neck. She was dressed from head to foot in black satin, and many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers. Dumbledore started to clap; the students, following his lead, broke into applause too, many of them standing on tiptoe, the better to look at this woman. Her face relaxed into a gracious smile and she walked forward toward Dumbledore, extending a glittering hand. Dumbledore, though tall himself, had barely to bend to kiss it.

“My dear Madame Maxime,” he said. “Welcome to Hogwarts.”

“Dumbly-dorr,” said Madame Maxime in a deep voice. “I ’ope I find you well?”

“In excellent form, I thank you,” said Dumbledore.

“My pupils,” said Madame Maxime, waving one of her enormous hands carelessly behind her.

About a dozen boys and girls, all, by the look of them, in their late teens, had emerged from the carriage and were now standing behind Madame Maxime. They were shivering, which was unsurprising, given that their robes seemed to be made of fine silk, and none of them were wearing cloaks. A few had wrapped scarves and shawls around their heads.They were staring up at Hogwarts with apprehensive looks on their faces.

“ ’As Karkaroff arrived yet?” Madame Maxime asked.

“He should be here any moment,” said Dumbledore. “Would you like to wait here and greet him or would you prefer to step inside and warm up a trifle?”

“Warm up, I think,” said Madame Maxime. “But ze ’orses —”

“Our Care of Magical Creatures teacher will be delighted to take care of them,” said Dumbledore, “the moment he has returned from dealing with a slight situation that has arisen with some of his other — er — charges.”

“My steeds require — er — forceful ’andling,” said Madame Maxime, looking as though she doubted whether any Care of Magical Creatures teacher at Hogwarts could be up to the job. “Zey are very strong. . . .”

“I assure you that Hagrid will be well up to the job,” said Dumbledore, smiling.

“Very well,” said Madame Maxime, bowing slightly. “Will you please inform zis ’Agrid zat ze ’orses drink only single-malt whiskey?”

“It will be attended to,” said Dumbledore, also bowing.

“Come,” said Madame Maxime imperiously to her students, and the Hogwarts crowd parted to allow her and her students to pass up the stone steps.

“Some of those french boys were quiet the eye candy,” Angelina whispered to Emile, who let out a laugh.

“Oh please, I’m all the eye candy you need,” Fred said, posing ridiculously.

The girls laughter was interrupted by a low rumble.

“The lake!” yelled Lee, pointing down at it. “Look at the lake!”

From their position at the top of the lawns overlooking the grounds, they had a clear view of the smooth black surface of the water — except that the surface was suddenly not smooth at all. Some disturbance was taking place deep in the center; great bubbles were forming on the surface, waves were now washing over the muddy banks — and then, out in the very middle of the lake, a whirlpool appeared, as if a giant plug had just been pulled out of the lake’s floor. . . . What seemed to be a long, black pole began to rise slowly out of the heart of the whirlpool.

“It’s a ship!” Emile stage whispered to Angelina, who was jumping up and down in an attempt to see what was going on.

Slowly, magnificently, the ship rose out of the water, gleaming in the moonlight. It had a strangely skeletal look about it, as though it were a resurrected wreck, and the dim, misty lights shimmering at its portholes looked like ghostly eyes. Finally, with a great sloshing noise, the ship emerged entirely, bobbing on the turbulent water, and began to glide toward the bank. A few moments later, they heard the splash of an anchor being thrown down in the shallows, and the thud of a plank being lowered onto the bank. People were disembarking; they could see their silhouettes� passing the lights in the ship’s portholes.

As they drew nearer, walking up the lawns into the light streaming from the entrance hall, she saw that their bulk was really due to the fact that they were wearing cloaks of some kind of shaggy, matted fur.

But the man who was leading them up to the castle was wearing furs of a different sort: sleek and silver, like his hair.

“Dumbledore!” he called heartily as he walked up the slope. “How are you, my dear fellow, how are you?”

“Blooming, thank you, Professor Karkaroff,” Dumbledore replied.

Karkaroff had a fruity, unctuous voice; when he stepped into the light pouring from the front doors of the castle they saw that he was tall and thin like Dumbledore, but his white hair was short, and his goatee (finishing in a small curl) did not entirely hide his rather weak chin. When he reached Dumbledore, he shook hands with both of his own.

“Dear old Hogwarts,” he said, looking up at the castle and smiling; his teeth were rather yellow, his smile did not extend to his eyes, which remained cold and shrewd. “

How good it is to be here, how good. . . . Viktor, come along, into the warmth . . . you don’t mind, Dumbledore? Viktor has a slight head cold. . . .”

Karkaroff beckoned forward one of his students. As the boy passed, Emile smiled and waved, recognizing Victor Krum. He gave her a small smile and a curt nod as he passed, getting ushered into the castle by Professor Karkaroff.

As whispers travelled throughout the gathered students Lee began jumping up and down behind George, trying to get a glimpse of the famed Quidditch player.

“For Merlin’s sake Lee,” Emile said as she pulled him down to the ground. “He’s just a person.”

“Oh yeah, he’s no big deal,” George said in a neutral voice, his eyes gleaming.

“He’s just the seeker of the Bulgarian Quidditch team.” Fred said in a nonchalant tone.

“He only caught the snitch at the Quidditch world cup,” Lee added with an eye roll.

“Not impressive at all,” Angelina shook her head, smiling.

At dinner the Beauxbaton students sat at the Ravenclaw table and, to Ron’s disappointment, the Durmstrang students sat with the Slytherins. The Durmstrang students were pulling off their heavy furs and looking up at the starry black ceiling with expressions of interest; a couple of them were picking up the golden plates and goblets and examining them, apparently impressed.

Up at the staff table, Filch, the caretaker, was adding chairs. He was wearing his moldy old tailcoat in honor of the occasion.

“Who else is coming?” Emile said, turning to Lee.

Before he could respond Dumbledore stood up.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, ghosts and — most particularly — guests,” said Dumbledore, beaming around at the foreign students. “I have great pleasure in welcoming you all to Hogwarts. I hope and trust that your stay here will be both comfortable and enjoyable.”

One of the Beauxbatons girls still clutching a muffler around her head gave what was unmistakably a derisive laugh.

“Still like the french girls?” Emile muttered to Fred, who rolled his eyes.

“The tournament will be officially opened at the end of the feast,” said Dumbledore. “I now invite you all to eat, drink, and make yourselves at home!”

The plates in front of them filled with food as usual. The house elves in the kitchen seemed to have pulled out all the stops; there was a greater variety of dishes in front of them than Emile had ever seen, including several that were definitely foreign.

“What’s that?” Said Fred, pointing at a large dish of some sort of shellfish stew that stood beside a large steak-and-kidney pudding.

“Bouillabaisse,” said Angelina.

“Bless you,” said George.

“It’s French,” said Angelina, “I had it on holiday summer before last. It’s very nice.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” said Fred, helping himself to black pudding.

A few minutes into the meal, Lee nudged Emile in the side, pointing up to the staff table.

“Look who’s joined the party,” he mumbled around a mouthful of food.

Ludo Bagman was now sitting on Professor Karkaroff’s other side, while Mr. Crouch, Percy’s boss, was next to Madame Maxime.

When the second course arrived a large amount of desserts was sitting before them, some foreign ones included.

“Tiramisu!” Emile gasped, helping herself to as much as she could.

“Isn’t that Italian?”Angelina frowned as she got herself a saucer of Creme Brulee.

“Who cares?” Emile mumbled around a mouthful of mascarpone and ladyfinger.

Once the golden plates had been wiped clean, Dumbledore stood up again. A pleasant sort of tension seemed to fill the Hall now. Fred and George leaned forward, studying the headmaster with great concentration.

“The moment has come,” said Dumbledore, smiling around at the sea of upturned faces. “The Triwizard Tournament is about to start. I would like to say a few words of explanation before we bring in the casket  just to clarify the procedure that we will be following this year. But first, let me introduce, for those who do not know them, Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation” — there was a smattering of polite applause — “and Mr. Ludo Bagman, Head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports.”

There was a much louder round of applause for Bagman than for Crouch, perhaps because of his fame as a Beater, or simply because he looked so much more likable. He acknowledged it with a jovial wave of his hand. Bartemius Crouch did not smile or wave when his name was announced.

“Mr. Bagman and Mr. Crouch have worked tirelessly over the last few months on the arrangements for the Triwizard Tournament,” Dumbledore continued, “and they will be joining myself, Professor Karkaroff, and Madame Maxime on the panel that will judge the champions’ efforts.”

At the mention of the word “champions,” the attentiveness of the listening students seemed to sharpen. Perhaps Dumbledore had noticed their sudden stillness, for he smiled as he said, “The casket, then, if you please, Mr. Filch.”

Filch, who had been lurking unnoticed in a far corner of the Hall, now approached Dumbledore carrying a great wooden chest encrusted with jewels.

“The instructions for the tasks the champions will face this year have already been examined by Mr. Crouch and Mr. Bagman,” said Dumbledore as Filch placed the chest carefully on the table before him, “and they have made the necessary arrangements for each challenge. There will be three tasks, spaced throughout the school year, and they will test the champions in many different ways . . . their magical prowess — their daring — their powers of deduction — and, of course, their ability to cope with danger.”

At this last word, the Hall was filled with a silence so absolute that nobody seemed to be breathing.

“As you know, three champions compete in the tournament,” Dumbledore went on calmly, “one from each of the participating schools. They will be marked on how well they perform each of the Tournament tasks and the champion with the highest total after task three will win the Triwizard Cup. The champions will be chosen by an impartial selector: the Goblet of Fire.”

Dumbledore now took out his wand and tapped three times upon the top of the casket. The lid creaked slowly open. Dumbledore reached inside it and pulled out a large, roughly hewn wooden cup. It would have been entirely unremarkable had it not been full to the brim with dancing blue-white flames. Dumbledore closed the casket and placed the goblet carefully on top of it, where it would be clearly visible to everyone in the Hall.

“Anybody wishing to submit themselves as champion must write their name and school clearly upon a slip of parchment and drop it into the goblet,” said Dumbledore. “Aspiring champions have twenty-four hours in which to put their names forward. Tomorrow �night, Halloween, the goblet will return the names of the three it has judged most worthy to represent their schools. The goblet will be placed in the entrance hall tonight, where it will be freely accessible to all those wishing to compete.

“To ensure that no underage student yields to temptation,” said Dumbledore, “I will be drawing an Age Line around the Goblet of Fire once it has been placed in the entrance hall. Nobody under the age of seventeen will be able to cross this line.

“Finally, I wish to impress upon any of you wishing to compete that this tournament is not to be entered into lightly. Once a champion has been selected by the Goblet of Fire, he or she is obliged to see the tournament through to the end. The placing of your name in the goblet constitutes a binding, magical contract. There can be no change of heart once you have become a champion. Please be very sure, therefore, that you are wholeheartedly prepared to play before you drop your name into the goblet. Now, I think it is time for bed. Good night to you all.”

“An Age Line!” Fred said, his eyes glinting, as they all made their way across the Hall to the doors into the entrance hall. “Well, that should be fooled by an Aging Potion, shouldn’t it? And once your name’s in that goblet, you’re laughing — it can’t tell whether you’re seventeen or not!”

“But I don’t think anyone under seventeen will stand a chance,” said Hermione, “we just haven’t learned enough . . .”

“Speak for yourself,” said George shortly. “You’ll try and get in, won’t you, Harry?”

Emile sighed and walked off, glancing over to where Professor Karkaroff was speaking with the Durmstrang students.

“Back to the ship, then,” he was saying. “Viktor, how are you feeling? Did you eat enough? Should I send for some mulled wine from the kitchens?”

Krum shook his head as he pulled his furs back on.

“Professor, I vood like some vine,” said one of the other Durmstrang boys hopefully.

“I wasn’t offering it to you, Poliakoff,” snapped Karkaroff, his warmly paternal air vanishing in an instant. “I notice you have dribbled food all down the front of your robes again, disgusting boy —”

With a grin, Emile headed up to the dorms, eager for a good night’s sleep.

 


	31. The Quadwizard Tournament

The next day Emile overslept, as she usually did on Saturday’s. She got up at noon to go eat breakfast, entering the crowded hall in her pajamas.

The first thing she saw was Lee heading towards the door with Fred and George, who were both sporting long white beards.

“Given up yet?” She grinned at the boys.

“Yeah, I think so,” George laughed, spitting out hairs a moment later.

Emile watched them leave before sitting down next to Angelina at the Gryffindor table. The decorations in the Great Hall had changed this morning. As it was Halloween, a cloud of live bats was fluttering around the enchanted ceiling, while hundreds of carved pumpkins leered from every corner.

“Emile, I know you’re going to be mad but,” Angelina swallowed nervously, ”I think i’m going to enter the tournament.”

“I’m not mad, I’m just worried.” Emile smiled at her friend. “But I think someone who got five O’s has a better shot at winning than those dorks.”

Angelina grinned and hugged Emile before walking over to the goblet, a piece of paper in her hands. As she dropped it in the Hogwarts students cheered, and Angelina was pulled out of the room by a crowd of Ravenclaw sixth years.

The students from Beauxbatons were coming through the front doors from the grounds. Those gathered around the Goblet of Fire stood back to let them pass, watching eagerly.

Madame Maxime entered the hall behind her students and organized them into a line. One by one, the Beauxbatons students stepped across the Age Line and dropped their slips of parchment into the blue-white flames. As each name entered the fire, it turned briefly red and emitted sparks.

When all the Beauxbatons students had submitted their names, Madame Maxime led them back out of the hall and out onto the grounds again. The gigantic powder-blue carriage in which they had arrived had been parked two hundred yards from Hagrid’s front door, and the students were climbing back inside it. The elephantine flying horses that had pulled the carriage were now grazing in a makeshift paddock alongside it.

“Must be enchanted,” Emile said to herself as she finished a late breakfast and headed back to the common room.

“Emile!” A familiar bulgarian called her over into one of the classrooms.

“Hello Victor, did you enter the tournament?”

“Of course I did,” Victor grinned as though it was obvious. “How about you?”

Emile laughed. “No way, I’d probably die a minute into the first task.”

“You are probably a lot better than you think,” he tried to encourage her, leaning over and stroking her hair. “You have changed it.”

“No, that was some death eater.” Emile shrugged as he put his hand back down. “I just had to deal with the aftermath.”

“VWas this at the vworld cup?” He asked, his eyes dark.

“Yes, I’m afraid it was,” Emile desperately searched for a way to get out of this conversation. “That reminds me, I need to go see Madame Pomfrey about my friends, they were the ones with the beards down in the great hall. I’ll talk to you later!”

Emile darted out of the classroom and speed walked towards the infirmary. It hadn’t been a total lie, she wanted to get the ointment for her scars on before the choosing ceremony after the halloween feast. She still had one more day of this before the scars were supposed to be gone, thankfully.

“Good morning Madame Pomfrey,” she called as she entered the infirmary and sat down next to Fred and George.

“Good morning Emile dear, I’ll be right with you!” The healer called from where she was treating a Ravenclaw girl’s beard.

“Do we look better?” Fred asked, grabbing Emile’s hand.

“The beard is definitely shorter,” Emile grinned as Madame Pomfrey rushed over with the now familiar green bottle and some cotton swabs.

“Come now dear. Lie down over there and let’s remove yesterday’s bandages.”

Emile drew the curtain around her bed a little, to block the twins view of her. She removed the Gryffindor scarf from around her neck before laying down, giving Madame Pomfrey a chance to remove yesterday’s bandages and look over the scars.

“Well dear there’s good news and bad new,” the healer said after a moment. “The bad news is there’s a scar on the side of you neck that won’t go away, but it’s not all that big.”

“It looks pretty cool though,” George said from behind her.

“A bit like a lightning bolt,” Fred added.

“Give a lady some privacy!” Madame Pomfrey bellowed, chasing them back to their beds.

“What’s the good news?” Emile asked as she returned.

“The good news is that all the other scars have faded. Your skin is as pink and fresh as a newborn baby’s.”

“That’s good,” Emile smiled as Madame Pomfrey applied the potion once again and wrapped her up for the last time.

“Now you take it easy and come back tomorrow so that I can take those off,” the healer smiled and let Emile go.

The sixth year wrapped her Gryffindor scarf back around her neck self consciously and left the infirmary to go change.

When they entered the candlelit Great Hall, it was almost full. The Goblet of Fire had been moved; it was now standing in front of Dumbledore’s empty chair at the teacher’s table. Fred and George — clean-shaven again — seemed to have taken their disappointment fairly well.

“Hope it’s Angelina,” said Fred as Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat down next to him.

“So do I!” said Hermione breathlessly. “Well, we’ll soon know!”

The Halloween feast seemed to take much longer than usual. Perhaps because it was the second feast in two days, people weren’t enjoying the extravagant food as much as usual. Emile however dug in and appreciated every bite, particularly the leftover Tiramisu for dessert.

At long last, the golden plates returned to their original spotless state; there was a sharp upswing in the level of noise within the Hall, which died away almost instantly as Dumbledore got to his feet. On either side of him, Professor Karkaroff and Madame Maxime looked as tense and expectant as anyone. Ludo Bagman was beaming and winking at various students. Mr. Crouch, however, looked quite uninterested, almost bored.

“Well, the goblet is almost ready to make its decision,” said Dumbledore. “I estimate that it requires one more minute. Now, when the champions’ names are called, I would ask them please to come up to the top of the Hall, walk along the staff table, and go through into the next chamber” — he indicated the door behind the staff table — “where they will be receiving their first instructions.”

He took out his wand and gave a great sweeping wave with it; at once, all the candles except those inside the carved pumpkins were extinguished, plunging them into a state of semidarkness. The Goblet of Fire now shone more brightly than anything in the whole Hall, the sparkling bright, bluey-whiteness of the flames almost painful on the eyes. Everyone watched, waiting. . . . A few people kept checking their watches. . . .

“Any second,” Lee whispered impatiently to Emile.

The flames inside the goblet turned suddenly red again. Sparks began to fly from it. Next moment, a tongue of flame shot into the air, a charred piece of parchment fluttered out of it — the whole room gasped. Dumbledore caught the piece of parchment and held it at arm’s length, so that he could read it by the light of the flames, which had turned back to blue-white.

“The champion for Durmstrang,” he read, in a strong, clear voice, “will be Viktor Krum.”

Viktor Krum rose from the Slytherin table and slouch up toward Dumbledore; he turned right, walked along the staff table, and disappeared through the door into the next chamber.

“Bravo, Viktor!” boomed Karkaroff, so loudly that everyone could hear him, even over all the applause. “Knew you had it in you!

The clapping and chatting died down. Now everyone’s attention was focused again on the goblet, which, seconds later, turned red once more. A second piece of parchment shot out of it, propelled by the flames.

“The champion for Beauxbatons,” said Dumbledore, “is Fleur Delacour!”

A girl who so resembled a veela got gracefully to her feet, shook back her sheet of silvery blonde hair, and swept up between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables.

“Blimey,” Fred said admiringly next to Emile. She rolled her eyes and elbowed him.

Two of the girls who had not been selected dissolved into tears and were sobbing with their heads on their arms. Angelina shot Emile a bemused expression, which faded as the Goblet of Fire turned red once more; sparks showered out of it; the tongue of flame shot high into the air, and from its tip Dumbledore pulled the third piece of parchment.

“The Hogwarts champion,” he called, “is Cedric Diggory!”

“No!” Fred yelled from next to Emile, his cry blocked out by the cheering from the Hufflepuff table. Every single Hufflepuff had jumped to his or her feet, screaming and stamping, as Cedric made his way past them, grinning broadly, and headed off toward the chamber behind the teachers’ table.

“I thinks its good that Hufflepuff will get recognized for something,” Emile said to Lee over the noise, who nodded in response.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore called happily as at last the tumult died down. “Well, we now have our three champions. I am sure I can count upon all of you, including the remaining students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, to give your champions every ounce of support you can muster. By cheering your champion on, you will contribute in a very real —”

But Dumbledore suddenly stopped speaking, and it was apparent to everybody what had distracted him. The fire in the goblet had just turned red again. Sparks were flying out of it. A long flame shot suddenly into the air, and borne upon it was another piece of parchment.

Automatically, it seemed, Dumbledore reached out a long hand � and seized the parchment. He held it out and stared at the name written upon it. T

There was a long pause, during which Dumbledore stared at the slip in his hands, and everyone in the room stared at Dumbledore.

And then Dumbledore cleared his throat and read out, “Harry Potter.”

Emile gawked at Harry, and she wasn’t the only one. The whole Gryffindor table was staring at him, jaw dropped.

“I didn’t put my name in,” Harry said blankly. “You know I didn’t.”

At the top table, Professor Dumbledore had straightened up, nodding to Professor McGonagall.

“Harry Potter!” he called again. “Harry! Up here, if you please!”

Harry got to his feet, trod on the hem of his robes, and stumbled slightly. He set off up the gap between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables.

“Well . . . through the door, Harry,” said Dumbledore as the fourth year reached him. He wasn’t smiling.

The headmaster quickly excused the hall and sent everyone off to bed, leaving a lot of rumors floating around.

“One would think that he would tell something like that to his best friend,” Ron was saying indignantly.

“If it makes you feel better he didn’t tell us either,” George said with a frown.

“Why would that make me feel better?” Ron snapped and stomped off to his dormitory.

“This calls for a celebration!” Fred said with a grin, running out of the common room.

“Are you coming to get food, Em?” George lingered for a moment as Emile shook her head and sat down by the fireplace, taking out her sketchbook.

The twins returned loaded with crisps, nuts, and cakes of all kind. Not long after some house elves brought up a few barrels of butterbeer and a large amount of mugs, and the party was on. Everyone was chattering excitedly about the tournament and Harry being in it.

When the poor fourth year returned to the common room he was overwhelmed with questions and people and food. Emile hung back in the crowd, Harry looked terrible. Everyone was pestering him with questions, and he adapted a pained expression when Lee tied an old Gryffindor banner around his neck. After half an hour of repeatedly insisting he didn’t do it, he became frustrated and went to bed, leaving a confused crowd in the common room.

“What’s his problem?” George groaned as he sat down next Emile.

“His quote-unquote problem, George, is that he didn’t do it and nobody seems to believe him.” Emile frowned at her friend, getting ready to leave.

“No, don’t go,” George grabbed her hand as she stood up, handing her a plate of tiramisu. “I got this just for you, it’s the last piece.”

“You can’t tempt me,” Emile said, sitting down and taking the plate from him, eating the delicious cake.

“It looks like I can,” he grinned at her. “So why are you so sure Harry didn’t do it?”

“He keeps saying he didn’t and when no one bothered to listen he got frustrated and left,” Emile said, taking another bite of the cake.

“I see your point, but I’m still not sure.”

“George,” Emile looked him in the eyes. “I didn’t believe Harry could have opened the Chamber of Secrets, and I was right. Can’t you trust me on this?”

George gave Emile a doubtful look before turning to his brother, who had just sat down next to them.

“Are we talking about our feelings?” Fred rolled his eyes and took a sip of his pumpkin juice. “Just go on a date already you two, get it over with.”

His laughter turned into a groan as both Emile and George punched him in the side.

 


	32. The Twin Cores

The Friday after that, Emile found herself being summoned from the library by Professor McGonagall. Emile hastily put her books and parchment rolls into her bookbag before heading up to her head of house's office.

“You called for me, Professor McGonagall?” Emile said, entering the book filled space and sitting in front of the desk.

“Yes I did, I wanted you to meet someone.” The Professor beckoned an older man forward. “May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?”

“Ah yes, I remember you.” The older man smiled at Emile. “Thirteen inch, larch with a phoenix feather core. Surprisingly springy flexible, great for charms.”

“This young lady is interested in going into wandlore,” Professor McGonagall said as Emile stared at Mr. Ollivander, her jaw dropped.

“Is she now? Very interesting,” Mr. Ollivander looked Emile over, his eyes twinkling. “Well then, I don’t suppose you would be interested in coming to watch the wand weighing ceremony?”

“I am, I’m not completely sure what it is but I’d love to see it.”

Mr. Ollivander and Professor McGonagall laughed and led the way out of the room and down the hallways of the school to a classroom where Cedric was standing with Fleur and Viktor. Two of the three champions smiled at Emile, while Fleur tossed her silver blonde hair over her shoulder and crossed her arms.

“Vwhat are you doing here, Emile?” Victor asked as she sat down in the corner of the room.

“I have an interest of going into wandlore, so my head of house invited me to watch Mr. Ollivander perform the wand weighing ceremony,” she said with a smile and a shrug.

“You want to go into wandlore?” Cedric smiled at her and shook his head. “Typical Emile, so unusual and unpredictable.”

Before Emile could respond Dumbledore came out of a broom cupboard with Harry and Rita Skeeter. The famed journalist took no note of Emile as she sat down next to her, pulling out a sheet of parchment and a quill.

“May I introduce Mr. Ollivander?” said Dumbledore, taking his place at the judges’ table and talking to the champions. “He will be checking your wands to ensure that they are in good condition before the tournament.”

“Mademoiselle Delacour, could we have you first, please?” said Mr. Ollivander, stepping into the empty space in the middle of the room.

Fleur Delacour swept over to Mr. Ollivander and handed him her wand.

“Hmmm . . .” he said. He twirled the wand between his long fingers like a baton and it emitted a number of pink and gold sparks. Then he held it close to his eyes and examined it carefully.

“Yes,” he said quietly, “nine and a half inches . . . inflexible . . . rosewood . . . and containing . . . dear me . . .”

“An ’air from ze ’ead of a veela,” said Fleur. “One of my grandmuzzer’s.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Ollivander, “yes, I’ve never used veela hair myself, of course. I find it makes for rather temperamental wands . . . however, to each his own, and if this suits you . . .”

Mr. Ollivander ran his fingers along the wand, apparently checking for scratches or bumps; then he muttered, “Orchideous!” and a bunch of flowers burst from the wand tip.

“Very well, very well, it’s in fine working order,” said Mr. Ollivander, scooping up the flowers and handing them to Fleur with her wand. “Mr. Diggory, you next.”

Fleur glided back to her seat, smiling at Cedric as he passed her.

“Ah, now, this is one of mine, isn’t it?” said Mr. Ollivander, with much more enthusiasm, as Cedric handed over his wand.

“Yes, I remember it well. Containing a single hair from the tail of a particularly fine male unicorn . . . must have been seventeen hands; nearly gored me with his horn after I plucked his tail. Twelve and a quarter inches . . . ash . . . pleasantly springy. It’s in fine condition. . . . You treat it regularly?”

“Polished it last night,” said Cedric, grinning.

Mr. Ollivander sent a stream of silver smoke rings across the room from the tip of Cedric’s wand, pronounced himself satisfied, and then said, “Mr. Krum, if you please.”

“Hmm,” said Mr. Ollivander, “this is a Gregorovitch creation, unless I’m much mistaken? A fine wand-maker, though the styling is never quite what I . . . however . . .” He lifted the wand and examined it minutely, turning it over and over before his eyes.

“Yes . . . hornbeam and dragon heartstring?” he shot at Krum, who nodded. “Rather thicker than one usually sees . . . quite rigid . . . ten and a quarter inches . . . Avis!”

The hornbeam wand let off a blast like a gun, and a number of small, twittering birds flew out of the end and through the open window into the watery sunlight.

“Good,” said Mr. Ollivander, handing Krum back his wand. “Which leaves . . . Mr. Potter.”

Harry got to his feet and walked past Krum to Mr. Ollivander.

“Aaaah, yes,” said Mr. Ollivander, his pale eyes suddenly gleaming. “Yes, yes, yes. How well I remember.”

Mr. Ollivander spent much longer examining Harry’s wand than anyone else’s. Eventually, however, he made a fountain of wine shoot out of it, and handed it back to Harry, announcing that it was still in perfect condition.

“Thank you all,” said Dumbledore, standing up at the judges’ table. “You may go back to your lessons now — or perhaps it would be quicker just to go down to dinner, as they are about to end —”

Emile followed Professor McGonagall and Mr. Ollivander out of the room as Rita Skeeter held up the champions for some photos for the paper.

“That was incredible,” she gasped as they drew out of earshot of the classroom.

“I’m glad you found it interesting.” Mr. Ollivander smiled at Emile. “Do you have any questions for me?”

“Actually, yes.” Emile tucked her hair behind her ear nervously. “What makes Harry’s wand so different? You didn’t treat it the same way you did the others.”

“Ah you noticed that did you?” He let out a small chuckle.

“Well for starters that boy needs to polish his wand more often,” Mr Ollivander frowned and wiped his hands on his cloak. “But there’s no point of answering questions with a straight answer, you won’t learn anything that way. May I suggest that you do some research into the connection of the twin cores?”

“Will do, Mr. Ollivander,” Emile smiled as Professor McGonagall excused her.

After a quick dinner she headed up to the library and found as many promising books as she could find.

Soon the second task was just days away, But Emile wasn’t too concerned about it. After all, she wasn’t the one who had entered the tournament. When she wasn’t studying or completing numerous essays, she was reading up on wand cores, trying to find out more on the connection of the twin cores.

“What information do you have for us today?” George said dramatically as Emile sat down with him and Lee at dinner.

“I found it,” Emile said, her eyes shining.

“And?” Lee mumbled around a mouthful of casserole.

“When two wands have a core from the same animal they won’t work properly against each other,” Emile said as she loaded her plate with salad and casserole. “But that didn’t really answer my question, what has that got to do with Harry’s wand?”

“Maybe I could talk to him,” George suggested.

“To find out what, his wand contains a unicorn hair from the same unicorn that you-know-who’s wand has?” Lee scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“You never know,” Emile said indignantly. “And even if my question wasn’t answered I learned a lot. I’ve read all the books in the library about wand cores, I think I’m going to read more about wand wood next.”

“Blimey, that sounds like a bore,” Fred said as he sat down next to George. “Let's talk about something more interesting, like the hogsmeade trip tomorrow.”

“The trips tomorrow?” Emile gasped, looking around for Angelina.

“Blimey Em, why so nervous?” Fred laughed.

“Do you have a date?” Lee asked, wide eyed.

“No, Angelina and I are going shopping,” Emile snapped, upset that her dorm mate wasn’t in the room.

“Well you can come shopping with us afterwards, right? Whatever you’re getting shouldn’t take too long.”

Emile laughed as George made this comment.

“It would probably be better if I met up with you guys beforehand. We can walk down together, visit a few shops and I can meet Angelina at the Three Broomsticks after lunch.”

“Sounds like a plan,” George smiled at Emile and she smiled back before taking a bite of the casserole in front of her.

That Saturday, Emile found herself in a large group of boys on the way down to Hogsmeade. She was wearing jeans, high tops, and one of the turtlenecks Mrs. Diggory had bought her to hide the scars around her neck.

“Hurry up Ron,” George called as the fourth year dawdled behind the group, looking up at the castle as they neared the village.

“Is he still not talking to Harry?” Emile whispered to George, who nodded back to her.

“Hey Ron, I had a question for you,” Emile dropped behind the group to join the fourth year.

“Ask away,” he grumbled, looking at the castle once more.

“It’s um, it’s kind of got to do with Harry and I was wondering if that’s alright with you?”

“Is it a lecture about me needing to get over myself?” He snapped, frowning at her.

“Not at all. Ron that’s your problem and I don’t want to get involved.”

“Good.” The fourth year let out a sigh and raised his hands in defeat. “Ask away, I guess.”

“Brilliant,” Emile pulled out a small notebook from her pocket and a pen. “Can you tell me anything about Harry’s wand?”

“Eleven inch, Holly, with a phoenix feather core. Dumbledore’s Pheonix, Faux, is the one who gave the feather for Harry’s wand. Apparently you-know-who’s wand is it’s brother? I’m not entirely sure about that bit.”

Emile stopped and stared at Ron, her mind racing.

“Did that help?” He asked, looking at her oddly.

“Yes, very much. Thank you.” Emile fumbled with the notebook, tucking it back into her pocket. “If you have any questions for me feel free to ask.”  
“I’ve got two actually,” Ron smiled maliciously. “Why does my brother like you so much?”

“Which brother?” Emile stared at him.

“And I didn’t believe him when he said you had no idea,” Ron laughed and shook his head.

“I see you aren’t going to answer that, so what’s your other question?”

“What’s that?” He pointed to the pen in her hands.

Emile shook her head and handed it to him. “You are just like your brothers.”

After a couple of stops at Honeydukes and Zonko’s, the group met up with Angelina in the Three Broomsticks for lunch before Emile left them behind. The rest of the afternoon was spent in Gladrag’s Wizard Wear, where Emile and Angelina spent three hours searching for the perfect dress robes. In the end, Angelina bought a slim fitting floor length sky blue gown while Emile got a slim black halter top dress that ended just below her knee.

“I hope there’s a ball of some sort,” Angelina squealed as they made their way back to the castle for dinner.

“You just want Fred to ask you,” Emile teased her, knowing fully well he probably would.

“And who would you want to go with?” Angelina said as the entered the castle grounds. “Lee? George? Victor? Cedric?”

“Ok, definitely not the last two, and as for the first two-”  
“Emile!”

“Speak of the devil,” Angelina muttered into Emile’s ear as the twins and Lee walked up to them.

“Did you take care of your girl stuff?” Fred asked, an innocent expression on his face. His comment earned him a punch from both Emile and Angelina before the group headed down to dinner.

The first task was taking place in the forbidden forest after lunch. Fred and George were going around collecting bets on each of the champions, so Emile headed down to the forest with Angelina and Lee.

“What do you think the first task will be?” Angelina said as they neared the end of the trail the teachers had sent them on.

“If you ask that one more time I will put hair removal cream on your pillow,” Emile said in an exasperated voice as Lee laughed.

When they reached the end of the trail they found themselves in a clearing surrounded by stands. Being on of the first ones there, they claimed some good seats in the first row of stands, saving spots next to to them for the twins.

A roar and a burst of flame from behind the stands in front of them caused Emile to jump.

“Well, now we know what it is,” she muttered as she glimpsed Charlie Weasley running into a tent on the far side of the field.

When the task finally began it was very hard to watch. First came Cedric, up against the Swedish Short Snout. He attempted to transfigure a nearby rock into a labrador, a marvelous piece of magic, to distract the dragon. It worked, for a moment. The dragon realized it was being tricked and released its fire, burning Cedric just as he reached his golden egg.

As the dragon was taken away and Cedric was led into a different tent by Madame Pomfrey, Emile noticed she was squeezing Lee’s hand so hard it was losing color.

“I’m sorry!” She gasped, letting go of her friend’s wrist.

“Don’t worry about it,” he responded as he massaged his wrist.

Next up was Fluer, battling the Welsh Green. She managed to put the dragon into a trance, but us she neared her egg it let out a snort and her skirt caught on fire. She quickly put it out with a small jet of water, and though she did have a small amount of points taken off for catching on fire she did not in fact sustain any injuries.

“That was somewhat anticlimactic,” Angelina said in a disappointed tone as the dragon was dragged off.

“I bet Viktor will have some sort of trick up his sleeve,” Emile said as the Chinese Fireball was brought into the ring.

“They haven’t even announced who’s going yet, how do you know it’s Viktor?” Lee argued.

“The Chinese Fireball just seems like his kind of Dragon,” Emile smiled at Lee and took a handful of popcorn from George, who was sitting behind them.

Sure enough, Viktor Krum was the contestant to battle the Chinese Fireball. He cast a spell that hit the dragon square in the forehead, leaving it teetering around the clearing in pain. Victor claimed his golden egg a split second before his dragon trampled half of the real ones.  
“He’s going to get a load of points taken off for that,” Angelina yelled to Emile over the cheering crowd.

Finally it was Harry’s turn. The crowd screamed as the fourth year entered the ring, trembling. After a moment, he raised his wand into the air and yelled something that was drowned out by the yelling of the twins behind Emile.

Then they heard it, whistling through the air as it flew over the tree’s and into the ring.

“It’s the firebolt!” Lee was yelling next to Emile, beside himself.

Harry mounted the broom and soured into the sky until he was no more than a hovering black speck. Then he dove, swerving to avoid the prickly head of the Hungarian Horntail as it let out a stream of fire.

“Great Scott, he can fly!” yelled Bagman as the crowd shrieked and gasped. “Are you watching this, Mr. Krum?”

Harry circled the Horntail on his broom, making it mad. The crowd gasped as the fourth year swerved out of the way of another jet of fire, only for the tail twigs of his broom to catch on fire. Then the large spiked tail came out of nowhere, grazing Harry’s side as it passed.

Harry continued angering the Horntail for a good ten minutes, swerving this way and that to avoid her gaping jaws and smoldering flames.

“Anticlimactic,” Angelina mumbled next to Emile through a mouthful of popcorn.

“Ok no more for you two, I payed for this,” George yelled over the crowd as Emile snuck another handful of popcorn.

The girls laughed and turned their attention back to the ring as Harry dove under the dragon, emerging with the golden egg in hand.

“He’s done it! He’s done it!” Lee yelled next to Emile, standing up and pumping his fist in the air.

“Look at that!” Bagman was yelling. “Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get his egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Mr. Potter!”

Harry landed by the stands and was helped into the infirmary tent by Professor McGonagall. As everyone started heading back to the castle, the twins grabbed Emile by the arms and dragged her along with them.

“We need help carrying food down to the common room for the party,” Fred said between pants as the three of them ran up to the castle, going down to the kitchen and tickling the pear.

When Harry entered the Gryffindor common room it exploded with cheers and yells. There were mountains of cakes and flagons of pumpkin juice and butterbeer on every� surface; Lee Jordan had let off some Filibuster’s Fireworks, so that the air was thick with stars and sparks; and Dean Thomas, who was very good at drawing, had put up some impressive new banners, most of which depicted Harry zooming around the Horntail’s head on his Firebolt, though a couple showed Cedric with his head on fire. Emile disapproved of these at first, though in the end she laughed along with the others.

“Blimey, this is heavy,” said Lee, picking up the golden egg, which Harry had left on a table, and weighing it in his hands. “Open it, Harry, go on! Let’s just see what’s inside it!”

“He’s supposed to work out the clue on his own,” Hermione said swiftly. “It’s in the tournament rules. . . .”

“I was supposed to work out how to get past the dragon on my own too,” Harry muttered, so only Hermione could hear him, and she grinned rather guiltily.

“Yeah, go on, Harry, open it!” several people echoed.

Lee passed Harry the egg, and Harry dug his fingernails into the groove that ran all the way around it and pried it open. It was hollow and completely empty — but the moment Harry opened it, the most horrible noise, a loud and screechy wailing, filled the room.

“Shut it!” Fred bellowed, his hands over his ears.

“What was that?” said Seamus Finnigan, staring at the egg as Harry slammed it shut again. “Sounded like a banshee. . . . Maybe you’ve got to get past one of those next, Harry!”

“It was someone being tortured!” said Neville, who had gone very white and spilled sausage rolls all over the floor. “You’re going to have to fight the Cruciatus Curse!”

“Don’t be a prat, Neville, that’s illegal,” said George. “They wouldn’t use the Cruciatus Curse on the champions. I thought it sounded a bit like Percy singing . . . maybe you’ve got to attack him while he’s in the shower, Harry.”

“Want a jam tart, Hermione?” said Fred.

Hermione looked doubtfully at the plate he was offering her.

Fred grinned. “It’s all right,” he said. “I haven’t done anything to them. It’s the custard creams you’ve got to watch —”

Neville, who had just bitten into a custard cream, choked and spat it out. Fred laughed. “Just my little joke, Neville. . . .”

Hermione took a jam tart.

Then she said, “Did you get all this from the kitchens, Fred?”

“Yep,” said Fred, grinning at her. He put on a high-pitched squeak and imitated a house-elf. “ ‘Anything we can get you, sir, anything at all!’ They’re dead helpful . . . get me a roast ox if I said I was peckish.”

“How do you get in there?” Hermione said in an innocently casual sort of voice.

“Easy,” said Fred, “concealed door behind a painting of a bowl of fruit. Just tickle the pear, and it giggles and —” He stopped and looked suspiciously at her. “Why?”

“Nothing,” said Hermione quickly.

“Going to try and lead the house-elves out on strike now, are you?” said George. “Going to give up all the leaflet stuff and try and stir them up into rebellion?”

Several people chortled. Hermione didn’t answer.

“Don’t you go upsetting them and telling them they’ve got to take clothes and salaries!” said Fred warningly “You’ll put them off their cooking!”

Just then, Neville caused a slight diversion by turning into a large canary.

“Oh — sorry, Neville!” Fred shouted over all the laughter. “I forgot — it was the custard creams we hexed —”

Within a minute, however, Neville had molted, and once his feathers had fallen off, he reappeared looking entirely normal. He even joined in laughing.

“Canary Creams!” Fred shouted to the excitable crowd. “George and I invented them — seven Sickles each, a bargain!”

“Are you alright, Neville?” Emile asked, leaning over to help the laughing boy back onto a sofa.

“I’m alright,” he said, his laughter subsiding as he coughed up a few feathers.

Emile smiled at her half brother before going over to sit in between the twins.

“Did you like the first demonstration of our upcoming line of products?” Fred asked shamelessly.

“It’s brilliant. I’m never eating a candy you offer me again.”

Fred and George laughed out loud at her comment, no doubt imagining ways to get her to eat their future creations, whatever they may be.

With a smile Emile helped herself to a jam tart, feeling calm for the first time in a long time. The rest of the party went by in a blur, she just remembered waking up at three am with her head on George’s shoulder as he shook her awake, insisting she went up to her bed. Emile yawned and obliged, happy to put on her pajamas and curl up in her loft bed, the sound of Carrot running on her hamster wheel lulling her to sleep.

 


	33. The Yule Ball

The start of December brought wind and sleet to Hogwarts. Drafty though the castle always was in winter, Emile was glad of its fires and thick walls every time she passed the Durmstrang ship on the lake, which was pitching in the high winds, its black sails billowing against the dark skies. She thought the Beauxbatons caravan was likely to be pretty chilly too.

“I have an announcement the headmaster wishes me to make,” Professor Snape interrupted the usual Potions class.

Emile looked up with the few others in NEWT Potions. Snape wore an unusually sour expression on his face, and he had been avoiding Emile all year. In the hallways when he saw her he would wince and walk the other way, and the hardly ever called on her during class anymore.

“The Yule Ball is approaching — a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament and an opportunity for us to socialize with our foreign guests. Now, the ball will be open only to fourth years and above — although you may invite a younger student if you wish —”

Several snickers sounded throughout the classroom, but were silenced with a glare from the Professor.

“Dress robes will be worn,” he continued, “and the ball will start at eight o’clock on Christmas Day, finishing at midnight in the Great Hall. Now then —” Professor Snape stared deliberately around the class. “The Yule Ball is of course a chance for us all to — er — let our hair down,” he said, in a disapproving voice.  “But that does NOT mean that we will be relaxing the standards of behavior we expect from Hogwarts. Have I made myself clear?”

Emile nodded along with the rest of the class as the bell rang and everyone packed their bags. She made up her mind to ask Snape about why he’d been ignoring her more than usual.

“Professor, may I have a word?” Emile called out as the last few students exited the room.

Snape pretended not to hear her as he went into his office and shut the door. Emile let out a sigh and went out into the hallway, on her way to dinner.

Over the course of the next few days, a lot of Emile’s friend were asked to the ball. Katie Bell’s ex-boyfriend had asked Katie, much to the delight of her roommates. Alicia was hoping Lee would ask her.

“Why Lee?” Emile asked one evening, surprised.

“I’d rather go with someone I consider a friend then someone I might end up making advances on,” Alicia sighed and leaned back against her pillows, smiling. “I just want to have fun.”

“Preach it, sister,” Angelina called from where she was changing behind her curtains.

The list to remain behind for the holiday’s was incredibly long. No one fourth year or higher wanted to miss the ball. When the list reached Emile she winced, thinking about how crowded the common room would be.

Now that the holiday’s were drawing near, Emile and Lee had prefect duties to take care of. They were in charge of decorating the school. Mistletoe and holly being strung throughout the hallway’s, ice sculptures being made. Everlasting icicles had been attached to the banisters of the marble staircase; the usual twelve Christmas trees in the Great Hall were bedecked with everything from luminous holly berries to real, hooting, golden owls, and the suits of armor had all been bewitched to sing carols whenever anyone passed them.

“End of term, decorating, and the yule ball all at once,” Lee moaned as they returned to the common room late one night. “It’s a lot of stress to handle.”

“Just ask Alicia to the ball, she wants to go as just friends.” Emile rolled her eyes and smiled at Lee, who was turning a bit red.

“Well I don’t know if I’ll ask Alicia yet, I had another girl in mind.”

“Good for you,” Emile gave her friend a high five before walking over to Fred and George, who were busy writing another letter to Ludo Bagman.

“Any luck?” She whispered to George, who was frowning at the paper.

Before he could respond a loud explosion sounded behind him. Ron had just lost a game of exploding snap and had his eyebrows singed.

“Nice look, Ron . . . go well with your dress robes, that will.”

Fred and George left Emile and went over sat down at the table with Harry, Ron, and Hermione as Ron felt how much damage had been done.

“Ron, can we borrow Pigwidgeon?” George asked.

“No, he’s off delivering a letter,” said Ron. “Why?”

“Because George wants to invite him to the ball,” said Fred sarcastically.

“Because we want to send a letter, you stupid great prat,” said George.

“Who d’you two keep writing to, eh?” said Ron.

“Nose out, Ron, or I’ll burn that for you too,” said Fred, waving his wand threateningly. “So . . . you lot got dates for the ball yet?”

“Nope,” said Ron.

“Well, you’d better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will be gone,” said Fred.

“Who’re you going with, then?” said Ron.

“Angelina,” said Fred promptly, without a trace of embarrassment.

Emile couldn’t help but gawk at the twin. This was the first she had heard of this arrangement.

“What?” said Ron, taken aback. “You’ve already asked her?”

“Good point,” said Fred. He turned his head and called across the common room, “Oi! Angelina!”

Angelina, who had been chatting with Alicia near the fire, looked over at him.

“What?” she called back.

“Want to come to the ball with me?”

Angelina gave Fred an appraising sort of look.

“All right, then,” she said, and she turned back to Alicia and carried on chatting with a bit of a grin on her face.

“There you go,” said Fred to Harry and Ron, “piece of cake.”

He got to his feet, yawning, and said, “We’d better use a school owl then, George, come on. . . .”

As the twins left a stunned Ron, Emile shook her head and went over to Angelina, laughing at her star struck roommate.

The next day, Emile found a somewhat dejected Neville wandering through the halls on his own.

“Something bothering you, Neville?” She asked, walking up to him.  
“Oh, hi Emile,” he said with a sigh. “I asked Hermione to the ball, but she’s already going with someone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry Neville.”

Emile was desperately searching for a solution to Neville’s problem.

“I know, how about you ask Ginny? She’s staying for the holiday’s, and she’s a third year so she won’t have anything to do.”

“That’s, that’s brilliant!” Neville gave Emile a hug as they entered the common room. “Thanks a lot.”  
“No problem!” Emile called after him as he ran off, smiling.

“Emile!” Alicia was now running Emile, a smile on her face. “You’ll never guess what I did!”

“You passed Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

“Don’t be rude.” Alicia shoved Emile in the side. “I asked Lee to the Yule Ball!”

Something similar to a pit opened up in Emile’s stomach.

“R-really?” She asked, a forced smile on her face. “That’s great, I’m happy for you.”

Alicia smiled at Emile. “I’m glad you aren’t mad, sometime’s it looks like you and Lee might have a thing for each other.”  
Emile laughed out loud. “No, no. I couldn’t -I mean- I would never-”

“And the best part is he said yes!” Alicia wasn’t paying attention to what Emile was saying, she was too happy.

Emile put aside her own feelings and listened to her friend rambling happily, not at all concerned about her date to the Yule Ball.

Term had ended.  Gryffindor Tower was hardly less crowded now than during term-time; it seemed to have shrunk slightly too, as its inhabitants were being so much rowdier than usual. Fred and George had had a great success with their Canary Creams, and for the first couple of days of the holidays, people kept bursting into feathers all over the place. Before long, however, all the Gryffindors had learned to treat food anybody else offered them with extreme caution, in case it had a Canary Cream concealed in the center, and George confided to Emile that he and Fred were now working on developing something else. She was far less willing to accept food from them after that.

Snow was falling thickly upon the castle and its grounds now. The pale blue Beauxbatons carriage looked like a large, chilly, frosted pumpkin next to the iced gingerbread house that was Hagrid’s cabin, while the Durmstrang ship’s portholes were glazed with ice, the rigging white with frost. The house-elves down in the kitchen were outdoing themselves with a series of rich, warming stews and savory puddings, and only Fleur Delacour seemed to be able to find anything to complain about.

“It is too ’eavy, all zis ’Ogwarts food,” she said grumpily in the Great Hall one evening. “I will not fit into my dress robes!”

Emile rolled her eyes at Angelina, who giggled in response.

Christmas Eve came faster then Emile would have liked, she had done all of her shopping but she still didn’t have a partner for the ball.

“I’ve had an epiphany,” She said to George one evening. The were sitting together in front of the fire, drinking hot cocoa at one in the morning in their pajamas. Everyone else had gone to sleep. Fred had gone to use the restroom, but Emile was pretty sure he had gone to bed too.

“What is your Epiphany?” George asked, taking a sip out of his mug of hot chocolate.

“You remember in third year when we slept down here, and we slid down the stairs on our mattresses?”

“Vividly,” George said with a grin.

Emile smiled mischievously. “What if we did it, right now? Slid down the girls stairs?”

“But boys can’t go up the girls stairs,” George reminded her.

“Do you trust me?” Emile grabbed her friend’s arms and looked him in the eyes.

“Yes?” He answered a bit hesitantly.

“Then don’t stop now,” Emile grinned at him, running over to the girls dormitory’s.

She climbed the steps to her room, casting the muffliato charm on all of the doors she passed. Once she reached her room she quietly levitated her mattress off of the loft bed and out of the room. At the top of the staircase she leaned the mattress against the wall before going back down, casting the muffliato charm again as she went, to make sure no one was woken up.

“I’m here!” Emile gasped as she ran back up to George.

“What are you up to?” He asked, setting his mug down and standing up.

Emile quickly pointed her wand at her friend. “Levioso!” She said, carefully floating a nervous George up the stairs of the girls dormitory’s. Once they reached the top she carefully kicked the mattress off of the wall so that it was lying down on the stairs before she set George down on top of it.

Emile barely had time to jump onto the mattress before a loud screech filled the stairwell and the stairs turned into a slide. She was dimly aware of George holding onto her waist tightly as they slid down the spiral staircase, laughing. The mattress slid into the common room and crashed into one of the armchairs, sending the people on it flying into the air and landing on the ground with a thud, the male on top of the female. They lay there for several moments, panting and gazing into each other’s eye’s.

“I am never not trusting you again,” George said after a moment, helping Emile stand up.

“And we didn’t even wake anyone up!” Emile smiled, feeling proud of her accomplishment.

“I need to finish my cocoa and get to bed,” George said after a moment, leading Emile over to the fire.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their hot cocoa and gazing into the fire.

“We’re so old,” George said after a moment. “Sixteen.”

“I’m seventeen,” Emile corrected him, knowing what was coming next.

“Really? Whens your birthday?”

“I-” Emile broke off and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. “August thirty-first.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” George gawked at her. “All those times you were over, and you never mentioned it! Heck, this year you didn’t even get to celebrate. You were unconscious in a hospital!”

“George, please stop,” Emile whispered.

Clearing her throat, she spoke louder. “There’s a reason I didn’t tell you, but in order to explain I would have to reveal something that could hurt someone I care about. I’ve only told one other person, ever.”

George gave a small nod and stared off into the fire for a few more moments.

“Hey Em?”

“Hm?”

“Wanna go to the Ball with me?”

Emile grinned down at her cup of hot cocoa and then up at George. “Of course.”  
“Brilliant,” George grinned at her before draining the rest of his hot cocoa and heading off to bed, claiming he had a letter to write. Emile figured it was just another letter to Ludo Baggman and headed off to her own bed, taking the mattress with her.

The next day Emile overslept and ended up eating lunch for breakfast. Lunch consisted of a load of roasted turkey and christmas pudding and wizard crackers. Emile left lunch with three different wizard hats and the intention of going to open her presents in her dorm. But she ended up joining Harry and the Weasley’s for a snowball fight on the grounds, leaving early with Hermione to get ready for the ball as well as open her presents.

“What, you need three hours?” said Ron, looking at them incredulously and paying for his lapse in concentration when a large snowball, thrown by George, hit him hard on the side of the head.

“Who’re you going with?” he yelled after Hermione, but she just waved and disappeared up the stone steps into the castle alongside Emile.

“Can you tell me who you’re going with?” Emile asked hesitantly as they approached the common room.

“I suppose everyone will find out sooner or later,” Hermione turned to Emile, a grin on her face. “Viktor Krum.”

“Really? Good for you!” Emile applauded the fourth year as they went to their separate rooms to get ready.

Once she was in the privacy of her currently abandoned dorm, Emile grabbed her bathrobe and shampoo and headed down to the prefects bathroom to take a bath. Inside she found all sixteen female prefects and head girls discussing the ball, and gladly joined in.

An hour later, Emile was up in her dorm, her hair in a Ravenclaw prefect’s curlers and her skin more exfoliated then ever. She turned on the enchanted muggle radio she had gotten from Mr. Diggory a few years back and listened to christmas carols as she opened up her presents.

This year Cedric had gotten her a stunning silver necklace that came with a note telling her she’d better wear it to the ball. Mrs. Diggory had sent her a box containing the clothes of hers they had retrieved from the tent at the World Cup. Emile was glad to see the Bulgarian scarf still intact and sitting on top of the pile. Mr. Diggory had sent along a small bag filled with galleons. There was a letter from her father, which Emile promised not to open until until after the ball. Fred and George had given her a bag of sweets and a bracelet from each of them, which Emile added to her collection. Angelina’s gift was a full makeup set, no doubt it would be used that evening, and Lee had given her a big box of her favorite wizards candy and wizard socks.

The most touching gift was from Mrs. Weasley. Alongside the usual honorary Weasley Sweater (this years a light beige with a White E on the front) and a box of homemade fudge came a small box and a letter.

_Emile Dear,_

_George sent me a letter in the wee hours of the morning as I was preparing to send off these parcels telling me all about your birthday and how you had been in the hospital. I spoke to Arthur and he agrees that you deserve this. It is tradition in our family that each wizard receives a watch when they come of age. Us female’s usually prefer something a bit more fancy than a wristwatch, so I have for you a very nice silver pocket watch, it even comes with a chain!_

_We hope you consider us family as well. You will always be welcome in this household, if you ever need anything then you know where to find us._

_Yours,_

_Molly Weasley_

Emile felt a tear slide down her cheek as she put the letter down and opened up the small box. Inside was one of the most elegant pocket watches Emile had seen. It was silver, with detailer carvings of a vast countryside engraved on the back. She immediately attached the chain to the strap of her mokeskin pouch and tucked the watch inside.

At that moment Angelina and Alicia came in, fresh out of the shower. They squealed when they saw the curlers in Emile’s short, red hair, and the remaining two hours went by in a blur. Emile’s face was wiped, tweezed, and suffocated under layers of makeup, but the end result was worth it. As a last minute touch, Emile put on the silver necklace from Cedric, thanking Merlin for her nuisance of a cousin.

Emile twirled in the mirror, admiring her own bouncy curls before slipping on her Chuck Taylor wedges and joining Angelina and Alicia on their way down to the common room. The three of them waited by the common room fire for their dates to show up, and when they finally did they all headed down to the ball in a large group, arm in arm with their dates.

“You look ravishing,” George said as they went down the moving staircases.

“As do you,” Emile grinned, admiring his dress robes. Sometimes boys could clean up very well. They just had to have a reason. “Thank you, by the way. That was really sweet of you, and you mother. Thank her for me.”

“What about my mother?” Fred called back to them as they neared the great hall.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” George said with a wink at Emile.

“Oh Lee, watch where  you step,” Angelina groaned as he tripped.

“I’m alright!” He cried, jumping up.

George laughed and patted Lee on the head as they passed him and Alicia and entered the entrance hall. It was filled with students milling around, waiting for their dates to show up or for the doors to open at eight.

“Two more minutes!” George grinned at Emile excitedly.

“You’re oddly excited for a dance,” Emile teased her friend.

“I’m excited that something different is happening,” he responded with a grin. “Instead of a boring old school year we get to watch the Triwizard Tournament! That’s pretty big.”

“Well here’s something different for you,” Emile nodded in the direction of Viktor Krum, who was accompanied by Hermione.

George’s aw dropped at the sight of the fourth year, as did a majority of the school’s when they realized who it was that Viktor Krum had brought as his dance partner. It was Hermione. But she didn’t look like Hermione at all. She had done something with her hair; it was no longer bushy but sleek and shiny, and twisted up into an elegant knot at the back of her head. She was wearing robes made of a floaty, periwinkle-blue material, and she was holding herself differently, somehow — or maybe it was merely the absence of the twenty or so books she usually had slung over her back. She was also smiling rather nervously.

“Ron’s going to be a sourpuss when he realizes,” George said, looking around for his brother as Professor McGonagall called the Champions and their partners to the front of the group.

“He’s over there,” Emile nudged George and pointed across the hall, where Ron was standing next to Padma Patil of Ravenclaw with a sour expression on his face.

“We’re going in!” Angelina appeared next to Emile with Fred as the crowd surged forward and into the Great Hall.

The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost, with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished; instead, there were about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones, each seating about a dozen people.

Dumbledore smiled happily as the champions approached the top table, but Karkaroff wore an expression remarkably like Ron’s as he watched Krum and Hermione draw nearer. Ludo Bagman, tonight in robes of bright purple with large yellow stars, was clapping as enthusiastically as any of the students; and Madame Maxime, who had changed her usual uniform of black satin for a flowing gown of lavender silk, was applauding them politely. But Mr. Crouch was not there. The fifth seat at the table was occupied by Percy Weasley.

“What’s your brother doing here?” Emile nudged George as they sat down at a table with Fred, Angelina, Lee, and Alicia.

“I don’t know, but it can’t be anything good,” George muttered as he looked over at Fred, nodding up at the judges table. Fred frowned back, and the twins shrugged in unison.

“It’s like they have their own language,” Angelina whispered to Emile.

“We do,” they responded in unison, laughing.

Across the table a couple of Ravenclaw Boys had opened up their dinner menu’s and were reading it over.

“Pork chops!” One said aloud.

No sooner had he said these words a delicious dinner of pork chops appeared on his plate, the tempting smell drifting over the table and encouraging the others to do the same.

Emile also ordered pork chops, while George got a plate of goulash. In between bites they talked about many things, the ball, the tournament, schoolwork.

“I don’t think mum will be pleased to hear we’re going ahead with the joke shop as soon as we get that money from Baggman,” George mumbled around a mouthful of goulash.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Emile grinned and ate the final bite of her pork chops and looked over the dessert menu.

“But it’s a good idea, right?” George asked after he’d swallowed.

“Oh course it is!” Emile looked at him over her menu. “It’s right up your alley, you guys are going to make millions.”

“At least you support us,” George grinned and took another bite of food.

After everyone had finished eating Dumbledore stood up and asked the students to do the same. Then, with a wave of his wand, all the tables zoomed back along the walls leaving the floor clear, and then he conjured a raised platform into existence along the right wall. A set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello, and some bagpipes were set upon it.

The Weird Sisters now trooped up onto the stage to wildly enthusiastic applause; they were all extremely hairy and dressed in black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn. They picked up their instruments as the champions stood up and went out onto the dance floor, preparing for their dance.

Once a few more people had joined into the dancing Fred led Angelina onto the dance floor, leaving Emile and George to snicker at them from the sidelines. Lee and Alicia soon followed, Emile noticed that Lee was trying a bit too hard to show how good of a dancer he was. He wasn’t particularly good, and when he tried he was simply terrible.

“Shall we?” George said after a moment, holding out his hand.

“We shall,” Emile grinned and took his hand.

George led her out onto the dance floor, putting one hand on her waist and holding her hand in the other.

“I’m thinking something along the line of a waltz,” George grinned and began something in between a waltz and a foxtrot.

“I don’t know what you’re doing but it definitely isn’t a waltz,” Emile laughed as she tripped over her own feet for the third time.

Before George could respond the song ended, and amidst the crowds applause the Weird Sisters started up a faster song. Nearby Emile spotted Fred and Angelina, who were dancing so exuberantly that people around them were backing away in fear of injury. Emile looked back at George, who laughed and began to imitate his brother.

After a few songs, Emile’s side hurt too much to continue, so George suggested they take a break. Emile sat down at one of the remaining tables as George went to get them some ice cold butterbeers.

“Hey,” Lee sat down next to her, gasping.

“Hey you, where’s Alicia?”

Lee looked around, as if he’d just noticed his date was missing.

“She’s uh, oh yes she’s over with Fred and Angelina.” Lee squinted towards the center of the dance floor.

Emile followed his gaze to where Alicia was talking to Angelina, her arms crossed. Fred kept glancing over to where she was sitting with Lee, a frown on his face.

“Lee, get out there to your date,” Emile frowned at her friend, shocked that he would leave Alicia like that.

“I don’t- I mean- I-” Lee took a deep breath before looking at Emile. “I was wondering if you maybe wanted to dance?”

“Now Lee, don’t you go causing trouble,” George said warningly as he returned with the drinks, handing Emile her bottle of butterbeer.

“Lee, what the heck?” Emile glared at the boy, standing up. “You can’t just abandon Alicia, what’s wrong with you?”

“What’s wrong with me? Nothings wrong with me, what’s wrong with you?” Lee stood up and glared at Emile. “Ever since you colored your hair you’ve been acting like a completely different person.”  
“What does this have to do with anything?” Emile asked, taken back.

“Lee, would you just tell her and get it over with?” George interrupted, glaring at him from beside Emile.

“Tell me what?” Emile looked back and forth from one boy to the other as they held eye contact for a solid minute.

“If you don’t tell her, I will,” George crossed his arms as he held eye contact with the dark skinned boy.

Lee let out a sigh and looked over at Emile.

“Emile, I-” he broke off and swallowed nervously. “I’ve been in love with you since the fourth year. I’ve been trying to tell you, but something would always come up.”

Emile looked from one boy to the other. After a moment she turned to Lee. “Lee that’s very sweet, but this has nothing to do with the fact that you’re just leaving Alicia on the dance floor.”

“I didn’t want to come with Alicia!” Lee objected, looking hurt.

“Then you should have said no to her! Or, you could have asked me to go with you earlier!”

Emile stared at Lee. Part of her wanted to tell him that she felt the same way, but she wasn’t entirely sure that was true. The only thing she was certain of was that Alicia deserved better treatment than this.

“I’m going to talk to Alicia.” Emile turned away from the two boys and headed out across the dance floor.

“Is everything alright?” Alicia called out as Emile joined them.

“No.” Emile quickly explained what had just happened.

“He’s so stupid.” Fred groaned, looking at where Lee was sitting alone at a table.

“He can sit and mope, I’ve had my eye on a Beauxbatons guy that came stag!” Alicia yelled over the music before winking at disappearing into the crowd.

Emile and Angelina laughed before turning back to Fred, who left a moment later when they convinced him to talk to Lee. A few songs later, the Weird Sisters played another slow song, and since their dates were gone the girls danced together, passing Alicia and her new date as the gallantly waltzed by.

Soon Fred and George returned, frowns on their faces.

“What’s going on?” Emile asked, noticing with a pang Lee’s now empty seat.

“We just talked to Ludo Baggman,” Fred sighed.

“He doesn’t seem to be breaking,” George growled under his breath.

Emile took George by the arm. “Hey, want to go on a walk?” Emile said into his ear.

George nodded and they headed out of the Great Hall and into the entrance hall. The front doors stood open, and the fluttering fairy lights in the rose garden winked and twinkled as they went down the front steps, where they found themselves surrounded by bushes, winding, ornamental paths, and large stone statues. Emile could hear splashing water, which sounded like a fountain. Here and there, people were sitting on carved benches.

Emile walked towards the noise of splashing water till she came to a large fountain. She quickly went over to it and stood on the rim of the pool of water on the bottom, holding George’s hand as she walked around the edge. With a sigh of relief she pulled of her wedges and dipped her sore feet into the water. George took off his own shoes and socks before joining her, rolling up his pants as he did.

“When was the last time we had a drama-free year?” Emile asked after a moment of silence.

“Third year?” George said somewhat hesitantly, as if he couldn’t exactly remember either.

“We’re so OLD,” Emile groaned, leaning backwards and almost falling off of the edge of the fountain.

“Careful!” George laughed as he grabbed her arm until she regained her balance.

At that moment a drunken couple stumbled by, giggling, and went into the nearby rosebushes. Emile and George stared at each other in silent amusement as sounds of snogging came from the bushes, followed soon by an angry outburst from Professor Snape, who was patrolling the gardens.

“Should we be concerned about Snape?” George said as the voices behind the bushes faded away.

“I don’t really care,” Emile said haughtily.

George laughed as splashed her lightly with water from the fountain. Emile gasped as the icy water hit her legs and splashed him back. Soon the two were running around the fountain, churning up the water as they went. Angry yells came from across the grounds, indicating that it was time to go.

George and Emile grabbed each others hand and their shoes as they ran back into the castle, soaking wet and laughing. Once inside they hid behind the statue of the three eyed witch, slipping into their shoes as fast as they could.

“Exaresco,” Emile whispered, pointing her wand first and her clothes and then at George’s, drying them instantly.

The pair began walking back towards the great hall, running into Snape on the way there. No doubtedly he thought they weren’t the pair he was looking for because of their dry clothes, and when he turned the corner the two of them burst out into fits of laughter.

The great hall was half empty by now. Angelina and Fred were still there, sitting at one of the tables with bottles of butterbeer in hand.

“Look in the corner,” Angelina whispered to Emile as she sat down next to her.

Alicia was behind one of the christmas trees with the Beauxbaton boy. The pair seemed to be having an intimate snogging session.

“Go Alicia,” Emile cheered silently to Angelina, who giggled.

“Here you are, Em.” George passed her a butterbeer, which Emile took gratefully, opening the bottle and chugging half of it.

After a half hour or so of talking, the two pairs returned to the dance floor for what were to be the last five songs. After jumping and twirling to four rather upbeat songs, a slow dance played. Instead of waltzing to this one Emile wrapped her arms around George’s neck and leaned against him, feeling a wave of exhaustion come over her as they rocked back and forth.

“Merlin’s beard,” George muttered after a minute or so.

Emile looked around to see nearly all of the couples around them snogging, the exceptions being Neville and Ginny and the teachers who weren’t paying too much attention. Even Fred and Angelina were getting in on the action.

“I reckon we shouldn’t be the odd ones out,” George said teasingly.

“I reckon you’re right,” Emile grinned, too tired to fathom what was going on.

But when George kissed her something felt different. It wasn’t like Oliver’s quick pecks, it was something more meaningful. Emile didn’t want him to stop.

“Wow,” he said after pulling away. “That was weird.”

“Very,” Emile agreed, butterflies in her stomach.

“Can we agree not to do that again?” He said as the music ended and the teachers began to chases the kids back to their common rooms.

“We can agree to disagree,” Emile teased, taking Angelina’s arm and heading to bed with her friend, eager to discuss tonight’s events.

 


	34. The Second Task

“Gorska! See me after class.”

A small chorus of snickers echoed throughout the classroom, the familiar voice of Lee amongst them. Mad Eye’s magic eye swept over the room, silencing the whispers. Ever since the professor had had them practice the imperius curse on each other, everyone had begun to take him very seriously.

“Did I do something wrong, Professor?” Emile asked hesitantly once everyone had left the room.

“Not at all,” he grunted, sitting down at his desk. “I have a message for you to take to your cousin.”

“Cedric?” Emile frowned at the Professor.

“Aye, Diggory. Tell him to take a bath with that egg of his.”

Emile stared at Professor Moody. “A bath?”

“You heard me,” he grunted, taking off his false leg with a sigh. “Here, let me get the door for yo- ARGH!”

Emile let out a small shriek as her hand flew to her throat, as at that moment Professor Moody had tripped and fallen onto one of his sneakescopes, shattering it, the scar on her neck had let out a flash of pain.

“I’ll fetch Madame Pomfrey,” she gasped as she stumbled out of the room, half blinded by the pain. The further away from the classroom she went, the more the pain ceased. When she arrived in the infirmary it had faded to a dull thud.

When Madame Pomfrey gave Emile a small painkiller she ran up to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Emile sat on one of the hospital beds for a few minutes before heading down to dinner, which was sure to be an exciting event.

“Cedric,” Emile called as she neared the Hufflepuff table.

“Em!” Her cousin stood up and gave her a hug. “What’s up? I heard Moody held you after class.”

“Yes about that, he has a message for you and it’s a bit weird but don’t judge me too harshly.”

Cedric shrugged. “Fire away.”

“Professor Moody suggests that you take a bath with your golden egg.”  
Cedric stared at Emile. “A bath.”  
“A bath,” Emile stared at him, a small smile growing on her face. “I swear that’s what he said.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Cedric laughed and waved as Emile headed over to the Gryffindor table and sat down in between Alicia and Angelina.

“You alright?” Alicia asked as Emile loaded some pork chops and mashed potatoes on her bed.

“I’m not sure,” Emle frowned and massaged her scar self consciously.

There was a Hogsmeade weekend halfway through January. Since Lee was being an ignorant sourpuss, Emile spent the day with Angelina. Alicia had made arrangements with the Beauxbaton boy, and they two had gone to Madame Puddlefoot’s tea shop.

“I almost wish Fred had invited me,” Angelina said remorsefully as they glimpse Alicia and her man through the window.

“Mmm,” Emile nodded as they walked into the Three Broomsticks. The pub was filled with students warming up, and Angelina and Emile squeezed into a seat by the counter.

“So when are you going to tell me what’s going on between you and George?” Angelina asked shamelessly as Emile took a sip of her butterbeer, choking on it.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Emile objected once she had finished coughing.

“Oh please, we saw you two at the ball,” Angelina rolled her eyes. “Lee saw you too, he was with some Beauxbaton girl.”

“Good for him, he moved on quickly and now he’s giving me the cold shoulder.” With a frown Emile chugged down the rest of her butterbeer.

“No, he was trying to make you jealous,” Angelina argued as they got up to leave the pub.

“Well, he did a good job. That doesn’t mean I would date him!”Emile objected as her friend squealed.

“Why not?” She said ecstatically, grabbing Emile’s arm.

“We’re going to graduate soon, I think I’ll save myself for something that might go somewhere.”  
Angelina groaned as Emile dragged her into Honeydukes. As much as Emile wanted to be done, she knew her friend wouldn’t stop trying.

That night Emile couldn’t sleep. The letter from her father had disappeared, the only explanation was that someone had taken it.

She sighed as she watched Carrot roll around in her hamster ball towards the door. Emile picked up her pet and carried her down to the common room, desperate to talk to someone.The warm room was dimly lit by the fire in the fireplace, illuminating the empty armchairs. Emile quietly crept up the stairs to the sixth year boys dormitories, pausing outside the door.

She stood there for several minutes, contemplating her decision. As she lifted her hand to knock a familiar voice sounded behind her.

“Emile? Merlin’s beard it’s one in the morning.”

Emile turned to face Lee, shaking slightly. He winced as she faced him. No doubt she looked like a mess, her eyes were red and her hair was crumpled. Her glasses were in her bedroom, so the deep bags under her eyes were clearly visible. And there she was, at one in the morning, in her pajamas. Holding onto her pet rat in front of the boys dormitory.

“You alright?” He asked hesitantly, stepping a bit closer.

“My roommates were all asleep and I just really needed to talk to someone,” Emile said quietly.

Before Lee could respond a loud bang came from inside the room. A moment later Fred and George emerged, coughing.

“Do not go in there, Lee.” Fred coughed as he leaned against the wall.

“Emile?” George stared at her curiously. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” Emile said a bit louder.

“Well you can tell us down in the common room, looks like we’ll be sleeping there.” Fred ushered the group of them down to where they sat on a sofa by the fire.

“I’ll bring you guys some spare blankets, here watch Carrot.” Emile ran up to her room and grabbed her quilt and three blankets.

“You’re too kind,” Fred gushed as she handed each of them one of her blankets.

“What was that?” Emile asked as she wrapped herself in her quilt and settled down between George and the fire.

“A fake wand,” Fred said with a glare at his brother. “Because SOMEONE forget what their own invention looks like.”  
George rolled his eyes. “We were working on our new candy and I grabbed one of our fake wands instead of my real wand. The whole room is filled with pink and blue gas.”

“I opened the window so that it will clear out, but there’s no guarantee it’ll be gone by tomorrow.” Fred yawned and wrapped the blanket tightly around him.

“Are you going to tell us what you were doing up there?”`Lee interrupted with a nod towards the boys dormitories.

“I wanted to talk to someone,” Emile shrugged. “It’s not too important.”  
“You’re a terrible liar.” Fred laughed before turning serious.”It’s obvious that you’ve been crying.”

Emile felt another tear slide down her cheek. “I’ve lost the letter from my father.” She whispered.

“What?” Fred turned to Lee, who shrugged as George put his arm around Emile.

“My father’s been in prison since the summer before fourth year. He sends me a letter every Christmas, and I can’t find the one he sent this year.” Emile felt a few more tears slide down her cheek as she spoke.

“Have you gone to visit him at all these past few years?” Fred asked, looking off into the distance.

“No, he wasn’t allowed visitors until this past summer, and we were going to the World Cup then,” Emile sniffed. “We were going to go this summer.”

“That’s good,” George said comfortingly, attempting to cheer her up.

“But he sounded so sad in his last letter.” Emile began to sob. “I’m worried he might try something dangerous. I think he might try to hurt himself. I don’t want him to leave me.”

“Oh, Em,” George said as she leaned her head on his shoulder. Fred and Lee sat in silence across from them as the fire flickered solemnly.

“Harry?” Freed’s voice caused the lot of them to wake up. They had fallen asleep in the common room floor, no doubt it was an interesting scene to walk in on.

“What are you doing up so late?” George frowned at the champion as he walked over to them.

“I was just working on the egg,” he said a bit awkwardly as he noticed Emile with George.

“Have you cracked it yet?” She asked, causing the twins to laugh.

“I think so,” Harry said, smiling a bit as he sat down next to Lee and Fred.

“That’s good,” Emile yawned before standing up and stretching. “You three have fun down here, I’m going to bed-Ow!”

Emile fell over, her hand on her scar.She felt like her life was flashing before her eyes, except it wasn’t hers. A pair of older hands was holding onto a piece of parchment and laughing gleefully.

“You alright?” Lee asked as Emile came back into focus.

“Did you see that?” She asked hesitantly as she stood up.

“See what?” Fred frowned as she stared around the group.

“I must be more tired than I thought,” she said with a whisper as she headed towards the girls stairs.

“Goodnight!” George called after her as she climbed the stairs to her room.

The month of January went by without too many interesting events happening. NEWT classes were getting harder as teachers began to prepare them for the end of term exams. Emile found herself in the library a bit more often than usual, studying some chart or book. Before she could comprehend how quickly time was passing it was halfway through February, the next task was upon them.

Emile stood by the lake in her black trenchcoat and the scarf and beanie from Cedric. She was waiting for Angelina and the twins, who were meeting her to watch the task. Emile had packed two bags of popcorn and a handful of Honeydukes sweets in her mokeskin pouch, which was swinging from her hand. She also had a large thermos of butterbeer. It was a cold day, and she needed something to warm her hands later.

“Where have you three been?” She yelled as the twins and Angelina appeared over the rise, heading down to where Emile was waiting by a boat. “The task starts in,” Emile checked the silver pocket watch, “ten minutes!”

“We were grabbing some snacks from the kitchen,” George gasped as they all climbed into the boat and it carried them toward the middle of the lake. He proudly displayed a bag of popcorn.

“I told you yesterday that I was taking care of that,” Emile groaned and showed them the content of her pouch. George gave a weak smile and added his bag among the contents of the pouch.

They joined Lee in the stands as Mr. Baggman stood up.

“Well, all our champions are ready for the second task, which will start on my whistle. They have precisely an hour to recover what has been taken from them. On the count of three, then. One . . . two . . . three!”

Upon his command each of the champions did something different. Fleur and Cedric applied the bubble head charm and dove into the water. Harry stuffed something into his mouth and followed, and Viktor transfigured his head into a shark before diving in after the lot.

“What now?” Fred asked when the crowd had ceased cheering.

“Now we stare at the lake for a full hour,” Emile grinned, pulling out her snacks. She gave George back his bag of popcorn and handed Angelina another before pulling out the thermos of butterbeer and a spare cup, pouring herself some of the drink. Soon they were all sitting around sipping butterbeer and eating popcorn as the clock ticked on.

“Miss Delacoure has been forced to quit the task!” Ludo Baggman called thirty minutes in as the blonde haired girl limped out of the water, shivering.

“Finally, something happens,” Fred sat up, eagerly scanning the water. After ten minutes of inactivity, he gave up and slouched in his seat, grumbling.

“These tasks are very anticlimactic for the audience,” Angelina sighed, stuffing another handful of popcorn into her mouth.

“As we reach the one hour limit there is still no sign of any of the champions!” Baggman called out somewhat anxiously.

At that moment Cedric burst out of the lake with Cho Chang. The stands exploded in cheers as they swam towards shore, followed soon by Krum and Hermione.

Fleur was pacing the shore anxiously as the clock ticked on.

“We have now well past  the one hour limit!” Ludo Baggman stood up and turned to the crowd as the four wet figures were handed warm towels. “If Harry Potter emerges he will be docked points-”

“Look!” Fred cried from where he was standing on his seat.

Three heads had emerged from the lake. As Emile squinted she recognized Harry, Ron and a silver haired girl. Seaweed green heads were popping up around them as the trio swam to shore, accompanied by loud cheers from the crowd.  Harry and Ron helped the silver haired girl out of the water.

Fleur was going ballistic on the shore, fighting to return to the water.

“Gabrielle! Gabrielle! Is she alive? Is she ’urt?”

As soon as the trio emerged from the lake she was the first to ran forward, embracing the little girl, her sister apparently. Harry and Ron were swamped by a large group of people, and the crowd sat by since they could do nothing but wait for the results.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we have reached our decision. Merchieftainess Murcus has told us exactly what happened at the bottom of the lake, and we have therefore decided to award marks out of fifty for each of the champions, as follows. . . .”

“Fleur Delacour, though she demonstrated excellent use of the Bubble-Head Charm, was attacked by grindylows as she approached her goal, and failed to retrieve her hostage. We award her twenty-five points.”

“Cedric Diggory, who also used the Bubble-Head Charm, was first to return with his hostage, though he returned one minute outside the time limit of an hour.” Enormous cheers from the Hufflepuffs in the crowd; Harry saw Cho give Cedric a glowing look. “We therefore award him forty-seven points.”

Emile cheered along with the crowd for her cousin, a small rush of pride going through her.

“Viktor Krum used an incomplete form of Transfiguration, which was nevertheless effective, and was second to return with his hostage. We award him forty points.”

“Harry Potter used gillyweed to great effect,” Bagman continued. “He returned last, and well outside the time limit of an hour. However, the Merchieftainess informs us that Mr. Potter was first to reach the hostages, and that the delay in his return was due to his determination to return all hostages to safety, not merely his own.”

“Most of the judges,” and here, Bagman gave Karkaroff a very nasty look, “feel that this shows moral fiber and merits full marks. However . . . Mr. Potter’s score is forty-five points.”

The audience sheered loudly. Now the two Hogwarts champions were tied for first place.

“The third and final task will take place at dusk on the twenty fourth of June,” continued Bagman. “The champions will be notified of what is coming precisely one month beforehand. Thank you all for your support of the champions.”

With that Madame Pomfrey began herding the champions and their hostages in the direction of the castle, Leaving the rest of the students to follow behind.

Soon it was March, and somewhat milder weather came with it. The day of the March Hogsmeade trip was very warm, and Emile regretted wearing her trenchcoat as they reached the outskirts of the village.

She spent the day wandering around the familiar stores with Fred, George and Angelina. Though they had invited Lee, he had insisted that he already made plans with one of the Ravenclaw prefects.

“He can’t avoid us forever,” Angelina muttered as they watched Lee awkwardly walk by with a group of Ravenclaw’s.

Emile shrugged and ran into Honeydukes, which had just introduced donuts. Emile helped herself to a jam filled one as Fred and George dragged them back out into the street towards Zonkos.

“We’ve been making notes about what draws people to this place,” Fred said as they were shoved into the store.

“And we could use a consumer's opinion.” George pulled out a notebook and the pen Emile had given him as he spoke.

“Well,” Emile shared a bemused look with Angelina. “It’s very big.”

“It’s very colorful,” Angelina added.

“It’s a joke shop,” they said in unison, high fiving each other.

“So much for them believing in us,” George shook his head at Fred, who gave an exasperated sigh.

“Guys look at it this way,” Emile put her arms around the boy’s shoulder, with some difficulty because they were much taller than her. “You two are some of the most popular people in Gryffindor. People like you and what you do. So don’t try to copy what someone else does,and just do you.”  
“Yes, Guru Emile.” Fred bowed to her.

“Do we have to pay you for your wisdom?” George teased, tickling Emile in the side.

“My wisdom is both a blessing, and a curse,” she said dramatically.

Angelina laughed along with the twins, and the group headed up to the castle for dinner.

 


	35. RIP

Emile was called to the Diggory manor for Easter holiday’s. Uncle Amos came to pick her and Cedric up from Hogsmeade station, and took them back to the manor by side along apparation.

“Emile I have some upsetting news,” He said a bit hesitantly, sitting her down on a sofa.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a letter, handing it over to her and leaving the room, his head in his hands.

_Mr. Amos Diggory,_

_It is our task to regretfully inform you that prisoner number 35813, Peter Gorski, has passed away whilst in the vicinity. The autopsy informed us that he passed away in his sleep, suddenly. No poisons were found in his blood. As he was a man in good health, this development has shocked many of the people here._

_Please come as soon as time permits to pick up the body of your deceased family member._

_Sincerest Apologies,_

_Warden Warren Jenson_

Emile stared at the paper, reading it over several times. Another paper was behind it, containing information of the autopsy. As the letter stated, there was no information of how someone could have died.

“You alright kiddo?” Uncle Amos came back in with Cedric and a large bowl of chocolate pudding.

“Yes, it hasn’t sunk in yet,” Emile grabbed the bowl from her Uncle and began to eat the pudding as fast as she could. Barely halfway through the bowl she began to cry, tears slowly falling into the chocolate.

“H-here t-t-take it-t-t,” she sobbed as she handed the bowl back to her Uncle, sobbing.

Cedric sat down next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She leaned against him, sobbing harder still.

That evening, Emile sent a wet piece of parchment to Hogwarts.

_Hey guys,_

_I’m at the Diggory manor. Turns out my father mysteriously died in the night. We’re having the funeral Sunday, I’ll be back in school monday evening._

_Emile Victoria Gorska_

_P.S. someone feed Carrot while I’m gone, I completely forgot about her_

The next day, Wednesday, Emile went with Mr. Diggory to get her father’s body.

“This him?” The guard grunted tactlessly, opening up the box her father was in.

After a moment of silence, Mr. Diggory nodded and got to filling out a pile of paperwork the guard presented him with. Emile stood staring at the frozen, unmoving body. If it wasn’t for how pale the skin was, he could have been sleeping. Silent tears slid down her cheeks as she began to notice the scars on his body that hadn’t been there before.

Over the next few days, members of Emile’s extended family on her father’s side began to arrive for the funeral. Many tears were shed as Emile was reunited with her old cousins. Sunday morning she woke up to find Alex, her American cousin, and his parents in the parlor.

“Emile!” Her cousin ran over and hugged her tightly. “How are you holding up?”

“I miss him,” Emile smiled as he took a step back so that his parents could greet her too.

“We all do, sweetheart,” His mother, Vivian cooed as she drew Emile in tightly for a hug.

The funeral was a solemn affair. A total of eighty nine people showed up, all related in some way or another. Emile’s great grandpa had had eight siblings, and her grandpa had twelve, so there were a lot of people who had carried on the family name.

Emile cried throughout the whole thing, Cedric standing next to her for emotional support. Her father’s will stated that he wished to be cremated, and that his ashes were to be placed in a bio-urn so that what was left of him could become a tree.

After the funeral, a lot of the family members left, but around twenty stayed for a dinner party before leaving.

“I never thought I would be alone,” Emile sighed as she took Alex to the stables, eager to see Nepeta.

“You aren’t alone, you have your cousin, and those friends of yours at that boarding school you go to,” Alex said, stroking Nepeta’s nose.

Emile remained silent for a moment longer, before letting out a long sigh.

“I don’t know what to do anymore.”  
Monday morning Emile was woken up early by Mr. Diggory. They were to go down to a lawyer’s office so that Emile could claim what her father had left her.

“To make it easy for you to understand, Miss Gorska, your father left you your family car, all of his belongings and his life’s savings,” the lawyer, a strict looking woman who smelled strongly of hairspray, lowered her glasses as she looked Emile in the eyes. Emile swallowed, focusing hard on not crying.

“I will need you to sign a few documents regarding your claim over these items. Do you have a driver’s license?”

“No, I was planning on getting one this summer,” Emile said quietly as she took one of the fancy pens from a small jar on the desk and signed the documents.

“I suggest you do that. And when you do, come back into the office with your uncle and we can take care of the matter with the car, completely. Until then it remains in the hands of your Uncle.”

Emile smiled for the first time in a week as Mr. Diggory turned white at the prospect of driving a car.

They left the office at noon, going into a side alley before apparating back to the manor. Cedric was waiting for them by the fireplace, impatiently tapping his feet.

“Did it go well?” Mrs. Diggory called from down the hall as Emile walked over to Cedric.

“It went fine, dear. I’m sending these two back to school.” He turned to the two of them, a serious expression on his face. “We’ll be visiting in June to watch the final task. Take care of yourself until then Emile. Don’t be afraid to ask for help.”  
“I’ll see you later, Cedric,” Uncle Amos hugged the two of them before handing them the decorative urn filled with floo powder.

“If we hurry we can make it in time for lunch,” Cedric grinned as he walked into the Emerald Green flames.

Emile gave her uncle one last hug before following Cedric, yelling “Hogwarts!” as she entered the fire.

A moment later, she spun out of the fire and into the great hall where Cedric was waiting for her. He gave her a quick hug before heading off to the Hufflepuff table. Emile went over to where she saw Fred and George sitting with Angelina and Alicia.

“Emile!” Angelina smiled widely as she joined them at the table, sitting in between Angelina and George. “Good to see you.”  
“Snape will be pissed you missed potions but turned up for Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Fred mumbled around a mouthful of garlic bread.

“I doubt it,” Emile said, forcing a small smile. “He hasn’t spoken to me since the beginning of the year.”

“And now you’re treated like the rest of us Gryffindors, good for you,” Alicia commented.

“Here, this is from our mother,” George passed Emile an Easter Egg the size of a Dragon Egg, full of homemade toffee.

“Thank your mother for me,” Emile said, forcing a larger smile on her face before letting it slowly fade away. She listened in silence to the gossip the four of them talked about, occasionally laughing along with the group. When they headed up to Defense Against the Dark Arts, Emile was simply glad no one noticed that she hadn’t eaten dinner.

“Gorska, a word,” Mad Eye barked the moment she entered the room.

Emile went over to the Professor’s desk, her hands in her pockets.

“First off, you aren’t in your robes,” he grunted, his magical eye looking her up and down disapprovingly. “Second off, I heard about your father. Your Uncle informed Dumbledore while I was there, and if it isn’t too harsh to speak my mind I wanted to tell you this sounds an awful lot like the work of a death eater.”

Emile gawked at the Professor. “You’re mad,” she snapped. “Of course it isn’t why would a death eater want to kill my father?”

“To get to you.” Both of his eyes held eye contact with Emile as he said these words.

“Why would they do that? I’m no use to them!” Emile was shouting now, blissfully aware of the class watching her. “You’re a crazy old man, I don’t need to stand here and listen to you lecture me with some insane story about how my father died!”

Emile stormed out of the room, aware of the Professor calling after her. She stomped to the seventh floor and paced back and forth for a moment.

_I need a place to let off some steam._

_I need a place where I can scream._

_I need a place to hide._

A small door had appeared in front of her. Emile pushed open the door, surprised to find it much heavier. The entire space was once big, soundproof area with a punching bag in the middle.

Emile set down her schoolbooks by the door and took off her thick sweater, standing in front of the punching bag in just her jeans and a tanktop.

She stood in front of the bag, thinking. After a moment she punched the bag, surprised that it didn’t swing back. She began to punch harder, and harder. Emile was

“This is for taking away my father,” she yelled, hitting the bag with her right arm.

“This is for allowing Mad Eye Moody to get,” punch, “on,” punch, “our, ”punch, “nerves.”

Emile punched the bag so hard it flew backwards. After fifteen minutes or so of violent attacks, she curled up in the corner and sobbed into her bleeding hands.

“Why would you leave me?” She said over and over, until her voice has hoarse and she couldn’t cry anymore.

Emile curled up on the floor, stone faced. Her scar suddenly let out a flash of pain, but all Emile did was wince and close her eyes, enduring the pain as a vision came into focus. She was looking over the marauders map, and she felt very angry.

_Where is she?_

The thought echoed in her head, becoming more and more angry. Emile threw the map across the room, and stared down at her hands, taking a swing of the potion.

Emile sat up with a start. She had heard about visions like these before. Harry had gotten them before facing you-know-who in his first year. But why would she get them? She wasn’t anything special.

Emile lay on the floor, thinking, for what felt like hours. Maybe it had been hours, she didn’t know. Her hands were stinging and caked with dry blood. She couldn’t bear the pain any longer. She hesitantly got up and grabbed her pouch, leaving the room. She could see the sun setting out the window as she headed to the infirmary.

“Merlin’s beard, Emile!” Madame Pomfrey cried the moment she entered the room.

Emile sat down on one of the beds as the nurse rushed around the room, gathering various items.

“Now lie down and don’t move, I’ll have you out of here in an hour.”

An hour later Emile’s hands were bandaged tightly and she was sipping warm milk, honey, and calming draught through a straw.

“Now when you get back to your room, I want you to go to sleep immediately. When you wake up in the morning those hands should be good as new!” Madame Pomfrey chirped as Emile finished drinking..

“Thank you, Madame Pomfrey. And I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” Emile smiled and stood up from the bed.

“It’s no inconvenience dear, it’s my job.”

The common room was mostly empty by the time Emile got there. A few fifth years were anxiously finishing an essay for Snape in the corner, Emile heard them mumbling about polyjuice potion as she passed by.

Instead of heading to bed, Emile sat down by the fire and took off her bandages, watching the magic slowly heal her hands. She didn’t want to sleep. Now whenever she slept she would dream of her father. Some dreams were good and some were bad. The good dreams varied, they were often various memories from her childhood. But the bad dream was always the same. Her father, beaten and bloodied. A strange visitor in the night. A flash of green.

A flash of green.

Avada Kedavra.

“Moody was onto something, I remember it so clearly. It’s like I was there.”

Angelina stared at Emile as they headed down to breakfast the next day. “It was just a dream, Emile.”  
“This was different!” Emile argued as they sat down at the Great Hall.

“Ok, it was different. You can’t do anything to prove it,” Angelina mumbled around a mouthful of egg.

“Eat some breakfast,” she said after she had swallowed.

“I’m not hungry,” Emile sighed and pulled out the borrowed potions book from the library.

Angelina sighed and took some bacon as Emile began to read about Amorentia.

Throughout the week, Emile ate only three times. She barely slept. Even though she thought she was fine, her friends had started to grow very concerned.

It started on Friday when Emile was talking to Lee in the space by the library, only for Lee to come in and sit down next to Lee. Emile had started yelling at Lee for being an imposter and saying that she wouldn’t go down as easily as her father. She ran out of the library, leaving Lee in a full body bind.

“You need to sleep, you’re beginning to hallucinate,” Angelina said, distracting Emile as Fred came up from behind her and knocked her out.

Emile woke up several hours later on one of the sofas in the common room. George was asleep next to her. A pale dawn light was flooding the common room, giving everything a somewhat rosy complexion.

“Happy May day,” Emile said to herself as she stretched.

“You’re awake, thank Merlin,” George yawned next to her. “Are you feeling better?”

“I didn’t dream,” Emile stared at George oddly. “Where you here the whole time?”

“We’ve been taking shifts,” George shrugged.

Emile hugged George, grateful for her friends. She had to move on, and she now knew there was people there for her.

“They’re giving Apparation lessons in the great hall today, are you going?”  He asked after a moment.

“Of course,” Emile said before yawning. “Blimey, I should go change into my robes.”

“Yeah I should go do that too,”George got up hesitantly and the two went their separate ways.

That afternoon a large group of sixth years was gathered in the great hall. The house tables had been moved and wooden hoops were scattered all over the floor. A small Wizard from the  ministry was standing in front of the room along with the heads of houses.

“Good morning,” said the Ministry wizard, when all the students had arrived and the Heads of Houses had called for quiet. “My name is Wilkie Twycross and I shall be your Ministry Apparition instructor for the next twelve weeks. I hope to be able to prepare you for your Apparition Tests in this time by which time, many of you may be ready to take your tests,” Twycross said with a look around the room.

“As you may know, it is usually impossible to Apparate or Disapparate within Hogwarts. The headmaster has lifted this enchantment, purely within the Great Hall, for one hour, so as to enable you to practice. May I emphasize that you will not be able to Apparate outside the walls of this Hall, and that you would be unwise to try.”

“I would like each of you to place yourselves now so that you have a clear five feet of space in front of you.”

There was a great scrambling and jostling as people separated, banged into each other, and ordered others out of their space. The Heads of Houses moved among the students, marshaling them into position and breaking up arguments.

Emile stood in between Angelina and George, Fred and Alicia in front of them. They were all exchanging nervous smiles.

“Thank you,” said Twycross. “Now then . . .The important things to remember when Apparating are the three D’s!” said Twycross. “Destination, Determination, Deliberation!”

“Step one: Fix your mind firmly upon the desired destination,” said Twycross. “In this case, the interior of your hoop. Kindly concentrate upon that destination now.”

Everybody looked around furtively to check that everyone else was staring into their hoop, then hastily did as they were told.

“Step two,” said Twycross, “focus your determination to occupy the visualized space! Let your yearning to enter it flood from your mind to every particle of your body!”

Emile focused hard on getting into the hoop, staring fervently at the circle of wood in front of her.

“Step three,” called Twycross, “and only when I give the command . . . Turn on the spot, feeling your way into nothingness, moving with deliberation! On my command, now . . . one —”

Emile glanced around again; lots of people were looking positively alarmed at being asked to Apparate so quickly.

“— two —” Emile fixed her thoughts on the hoop again; she had already forgotten what the three D’s stood for. “— THREE!”

Emile spun on the spot, lost balance, and nearly fell over. She was not the only one. Fred had done sort of a ballerina leap into the hoop, and was looking very pleased with himself until he noticed George and Lee laughing at him from the floor.

“Never mind, never mind,” said Twycross dryly, who did not seem to have expected anything better. “Adjust your hoops, please, and back to your original positions. . . .”

The second attempt was no better than the first. The third was just as bad. Not until the fourth did anything exciting happen. There was a horrible screech of pain and everybody looked around, terrified, so see one of Cedric’s Hufflepuff friends wobbling in her hoop with her left leg still standing five feet away where she had started.

The Heads of House converged on her; there was a great bang and a puff of purple smoke, which cleared to reveal her sobbing, reunited with her leg but looking horrified.

“Splinching, or the separation of random body parts,” said Wilkie Twycross dispassionately, “occurs when the mind is insufficiently determined. You must concentrate continuously upon your destination, and move, without haste, but with deliberation . . . thus.”

Twycross stepped forward, turned gracefully on the spot with his arms outstretched, and vanished in a swirl of robes, reappearing at the back of the Hall.

“Remember the three D’s,” he said, “and try again . . . one — two — three —”

But an hour later, the Splinching was still the most interesting thing that had happened. Twycross did not seem discouraged. Fastening his cloak at his neck, he merely said,

“Until next Saturday, everybody, and do not forget: Destination. Determination. Deliberation.”

With that, he waved his wand, Vanishing the hoops, and walked out of the Hall accompanied by Professor McGonagall. Talk broke out at once as people began moving toward the entrance hall.

The next weekend Emile managed to splinch herself, and had to sit out of the rest of the class. She had apparated into the hoop, but left her feet behind.

“Look at it this way, most of you has got the hang of Apparating already!” Fred said encouragingly as they headed up to the common room afterwards.

Three lessons on, Apparition was proving as difficult as ever, though a few more people had managed to Splinch themselves. Frustration was running high and there was a certain amount of ill feeling toward Wilkie Twycross and his three D’s, which had inspired a number of nicknames for him, the politest of which were Dogbreath and Dunghead.

By the fourth lesson Emile had successfully apparated into the wooden hoop. Delighted, she showed off the skill to Angelina by apparating back out of her hoop.

When the day gave to go down to Hogsmeade to test for their apparating license, Emile  was ecstatic. Angelina, Fred, and George all went down with her. Lee wasn’t seventeen yet, so he remained behind at the castle with Alicia.

“How did you do?” George asked anxiously as she came out of the testing room, clutching a roll of parchment.

“You passed, of course,” Angelina said, taking the parchment from her, unrolling it. “You passed!”

After a small round of hugging Emile went off to get her license, grinning widely. She still had to get her driver’s license this summer. A pang went through her as she thought of the family car, a yellow Volkswagen bug. Soon it would be her car.

She sat by the door, clutching her apparating license in her hands as memories of the car and her father flooded back. Soon Cedric sat down next to her, putting his arm around her shoulders.

“I really miss him,” Emile whispered to her cousin.

“I know you do. But remember that you’ll always have me,” he said comfortingly.

Fred, George, and Angelina all got their licenses. After the whole group was done they went to the Three Broomsticks for a celebratory Butterbeer. Fred abused his new power that was being an of age wizard, and ordered a firewhiskey shot in his butterbeer. He had a lot of fun being carried back to the castle by his brother.

As they sat in the common room, happily talking about their licenses, Emile’s neck began to burn again. She closed her eyes, anticipating a vision.

She was burying a bone, her hands digging deep in the ground that Hagrid’s nifflers had recently dug up. She had to do it quickly, no one could know about this. There would be questions.

“Emile?”

George’s whisper in her ear brought her back to the present. No one else seemed to have noticed what was happening. She smiled at him and squeezed his hand. He gave an unconvincing smile back.

 


	36. Bartemius Crouch Junior

Soon it was time for the final exams. The grounds had never looked more inviting, but Emile stayed in the library, studying. She only allowed herself free time after dinner, she was determined to pass every single one of her NEWT classes with an E.

The third task was to take place immediately following the exams. George told her that Ron heard from Harry it was to be a Maze, and the triwizard cup was to be hidden in the center of it.

“So, more sitting around and waiting for us?” Emile had said, causing Fred to spit out  his pumpkin juice and groan.

“Anticlimactic,” Angelina had grumbled, her arms crossed.

“How did it go?” George’s voice interrupted Emile’s thoughts, bringing her back to the common room..

“Fine, I think. I messed up in identifying one of the traits of Amorentia. I didn’t identify the smell correctly.” Emile sighed as fell back onto the sofa. “Instead of writing that its smell is whatever each individual person is attracted to I wrote what I smelled.”

“What do you smell?” He asked mischievously as he sat down next to her.

“Sage, Lemongrass, and Foxcrest scented Old Spice.”

George pulled something out of his pocket. “So the scent you got me?”

“I said you would smell good, didn’t I?” Emile sat up and winked at George as Fred walked over.

“Well if you two need privacy then don’t let me interrupt!” He cried out, turning around and walking in the opposite direction.

“Miss Gorska!” Emile jumped up at the sound of Professor McGonagall’s voice.

“Miss Gorska, I am to inform you that tomorrow after breakfast the Champions families will be gathering in the side chamber by the Great Hall. Seeing that you are finished with your exams and related to Mr. Diggory you may join.”

Professor McGonagall left as quickly as she appeared.

“Might as well go,” Emile shrugged before heading to bed for the night.

The next day she was waiting in the side chamber with Mr. and Mrs. Diggory when Mrs. Weasley and Bill came into the room.

“Emile!” Mrs. Weasley ran over and enveloped her in a hug. “Are you doing alright, dear?”

“I’ve been alright,” Emile gave a small smile as Mrs. Weasley let go.

Bill gave her a small side hug before letting go. At that moment Cedric, Fleur, and Krum came into the room.

“Cedric my boy!” Mr. Diggory boomed, patting his son on the back. Mrs. Diggory didn’t say anything, just embraced her son tightly.

“Emile, I haven’t seen you in so long!” Cedric cried dramatically, embracing her tightly.

“It’s been way too long!” She said as she squeezed him back.

“Where’s Harry?” Mrs. Weasley said, looking around.

“Probably in the hall, he didn’t think anyone would visit him,” Emile said with a smile as Cedric went to fetch the fourth year.

When Harry came in Emile’s attention was drawn to Fluer. Fleur was jabbering away in French to her mother. Fleur’s little sister, Gabrielle, was holding her mother’s hand. She waved at Harry, who waved back, grinning.

As Harry walked over to the two Weasleys Mrs. Weasley beamed at him.

“Surprise!” Mrs. Weasley said excitedly as he smiled broadly and walked over to them. “Thought we’d come and watch you, Harry!” She bent down and kissed him on the cheek.

“You all right?” said Bill, grinning at Harry and shaking his hand. “Charlie wanted to come, but he couldn’t get time off. He said you were incredible against the Horntail.”

Fleur Delacour, Emile noticed, kept eyeing Bill with great interest over her mother’s shoulder. Emile tried to hide the smile growing on her face as Bill eyed her back.

Emile returned to her family members, listening to her Uncle boast about his son and give advice about the upcoming task.

“There you are, are you?” he said, looking Harry up and down as he passed them with the Weasley’s.

“Bet you’re not feeling quite as full of yourself now Cedric’s caught you up on points, are you?”

“What?” said Harry.

“Ignore him,” said Cedric in a low voice to Harry, frowning after his father. “He’s been

angry ever since Rita Skeeter’s article about the Triwizard Tournament — you know, when she made out you were the only Hogwarts champion.”

“Didn’t bother to correct her, though, did he?” said Amos Diggory, loudly enough for Harry to hear as he started to walk out of the door with Mrs. Weasley and Bill. “Still . . . you’ll show him, Ced. Beaten him once before, haven’t you?”

“Rita Skeeter goes out of her way to cause trouble, Amos!” Mrs. Weasley said angrily. “I would have thought you’d know that, working at the Ministry!”

Mr. Diggory looked as though he was going to say something angry, but his wife laid a hand on his arm, and he merely shrugged and turned away. Emile smiled apologetically at Harry and Mrs. Weasley as they left the room.

At lunchtime Emile sat With Harry, Ron, Mrs. Weasley, Bill, Fred, George, and Ginny. They were having a good time until Hermione joined the group.

“Hello, Hermione,” said Mrs. Weasley, much more stiffly than usual.

“Hello,” said Hermione, her smile faltering at the cold expression on Mrs. Weasley’s face.

Harry looked at the two of them before tentatively saying “Mrs. Weasley, you didn’t believe that rubbish Rita Skeeter wrote in Witch Weekly, did you? Because Hermione’s not my girlfriend.”

“Oh!” said Mrs. Weasley. “No — of course I didn’t!” But she became considerably warmer toward Hermione after that.

“Your mother reads Witch Weekly?” Emile asked George as they followed Harry and Mrs. Weasley out of the Great Hall. He rolled his eyes in response.

The feast that night was worth the several hour wait. Ludo Bagman and Cornelius Fudge had joined the staff table now. Bagman looked quite cheerful, but Cornelius Fudge, who was sitting next to Madame Maxime, looked stern and was not talking. Madame Maxime was concentrating on her plate, and Emile thought her eyes looked red. Hagrid kept glancing along the table at her.

There was more courses than usual. Emile stuffed herself with cornish pastie, escargot, and Tarator, which was a cold Bulgarian soup. For dessert there were eclairs, cakes, and piles of pumpkin pasties.  

As the enchanted ceiling overhead began to fade from blue to a dusky purple, Dumbledore rose to his feet at the staff table, and silence fell.

“Ladies and gentlemen, in five minutes’ time, I will be asking you to make your way down to the Quidditch field for the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament. Will the champions please follow Mr. Bagman down to the stadium now.”

Harry got up. The Gryffindors all along the table were applauding him; the Weasleys and Hermione all wished him good luck, and he headed off out of the Great Hall with Cedric, Fleur, and Viktor.

Emile ran up to her cousin, giving him a hug. “Don’t die, okay?”

“A bit of faith in me would be nice,” He teased as she let go. Emile gave a weak smile as she watched him turn the corner before returning to the dinner table.

“He’ll be fine,” Mrs. Weasley kept saying as they themselves headed down to the field several minutes later. Emile sat behind her and Bill near the front. Angelina was on her right and George was on her left.

The stands had begun to fill; the air was full of excited voices and the rumbling of feet as the hundreds of students filed into their seats. The sky was a deep, clear blue now, and the first stars were starting to appear. Hagrid, Professor Moody, Professor McGonagall, and Professor Flitwick came walking into the stadium and approached Bagman and the champions. They were wearing large, red, luminous stars on their hats, all except Hagrid, who had his on the back of his moleskin vest.

“We are going to be patrolling the outside of the maze,” said Professor McGonagall to the champions. “If you get into difficulty, and wish to be rescued, send red sparks into the air, and one of us will come and get you, do you understand?”

The champions nodded.

Bagman now pointed his wand at his throat, muttered, “Sonorus,” and his magically magnified voice echoed into the stands.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the third and final task of the Triwizard Tournament is about to begin! Let me remind you how the points currently stand! Tied in first place, with eighty-five points each — Mr. Cedric Diggory and Mr. Harry Potter, both of Hogwarts School!” The cheers and applause sent birds from the Forbidden Forest fluttering into the darkening sky. “In second place, with eighty points — Mr. Viktor Krum, of Durmstrang Institute!” More applause. “And in third place — Miss Fleur Delacour, of Beauxbatons Academy!”

“So . . . on my whistle, Harry and Cedric!” said Bagman. “Three — two — one —” He gave a short blast on his whistle, and Harry and Cedric hurried forward into the maze.

The crowd cheered as the Hogwarts champions disappeared into the darkness, soon followed by Krum and then Fleur. Soon there was nothing they could do but sit and wait.

“Want some?” George mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn as he passed the bag down to Emile and Angelina.

“How do you still have room?” Emile asked as Angelina pushed the bag back.

“I’m a growing boy, Em. I can’t help what my body want’s.”

At that moment an ear splitting scream sounded from inside the maze, causing Emile and a majority of the audience to jump. She felt her scar burn again, she was so angry, it hadn’t worked. Potter just couldn’t stay out of the way, self righteous people were horrible.

“It’s alright, that sounded like Fleur. Harry’s fine,” the sound of Hermione soothing Mrs. Weasley brought Emile back to the present.

Not ten minutes later red sparks were seen flying up from the maze, hovering in the air above wherever the Champion who sent them up was.

“It’s anticlimactic, but the suspense is killing me,” Angelina said jokingly beside Emile.

“I bet something a lot worst then suspense is doing some killing about now,” Fred muttered from the other side of George.

Emile shivered as she stared at the hedge, her body rigid as a statue. She wished she had Mad Eye Moody’s magical eye; no doubt he was tracking the champions moves through the hedge.

It could have been days. It could have been mere seconds. But it was no more than an hour later that the famous Harry Potter came stumbling out of the maze with Cedric, clutching the triwizard cup. Fleur and Krum, who had been rescued by teachers earlier, clapped from the sideline along with the rest of the crowd.

Fleur let out a sudden scream as Cedric and Harry lay unmoving on the ground.

“Get me down there-out of my way- CEDRIC!” Emile’s Uncle was pushing his way through the crowded stands to where the two bodies were lying on the ground. Madame Pomfrey had rushed forward along with Professor Moody and Professor Dumbledore.

“Let me through!” Emile stood up and began to push through the crowd along with her Uncle.

“Emile, don’t!” George tried to grab her, but the flood of people in between them was growing larger.

“He’s dead!” “He’s dead!” “Cedric Diggory! Dead!”

Emile was sobbing now as she helped Mrs. Diggory through the crowd after her husband.

“He’s not dead!” She said through tears. “He isn’t dead, he can’t be dead.”

He was dead. Amos Diggory was crying as he cradled his son’s body, soon joined by his wife. Emile was sitting a few feet away, sobbing. Several people stepped on her and kicked her as the crowd surged around them like a confused swarm of bee’s. Emile was vaguely aware of someone calling her name, but she couldn’t respond. Her entire body was shaking with every sob leaving her as she stared at her cousin’s body.  
“You can’t leave me too! You said you couldn’t die! You can’t leave me too!” Emile was yelling at Cedric, as she grabbed his arm and shook it.

“Emile, Emile dear come with me,” Madame Pomfrey was soothing her as she led her towards Mrs. Weasley, who was standing at the edge of the crowd. The older woman wrapped her arms around Emile as she sobbed into her shoulder.

“Take her to the infirmary.”

Emile was vaguely aware of Madame Pomfrey’s demand as Mrs. Weasley wrapped her arm around Emile and gently guided her towards the castle.

“There you go dear, now climb these stairs here. Blast my memory, I don’t know where the infirmary is,” Mrs. Weasley was muttering as she led Emile into the castle.

“G-go up the m-m-main stairwell-l,” Emile spluttered, happy when Mrs. Weasley remembered where to go from there.

Emile lay down on one of the infirmary beds by the window, staring out across the black lake as her crying slowed to a stop.

“Are you feeling better?” Mrs. Weasley asked gently, wrapping Emile in a blanket.

“No,” Emile whispered, her eyes beginning to tear up again. Silent tears slid down her cheeks until she eventually fell into a dreamless sleep.

Emile woke with a start as her scar began to pulse with pain.

“Help!” She cried out, writhing in her bed.

If anyone came to her aid she didn’t know; she had been transported into the mind of her captor.

“I don’t want to talk!” Emile was vaguely aware of herself yelling as she saw through another person’s eyes, heard through another person’s ears.

“Can you hear me?” Dumbledore asked quietly, mere inches away from her face.

Yes,” She muttered.

“I would like you to tell us,” said Dumbledore softly, “how you came to be here. How did you escape from Azkaban?”

“My mother saved me. She knew she was dying. She persuaded my father to rescue me as a last favor to her. He loved her as he had never loved me. He agreed. They came to visit me. They gave me a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my mother’s hairs. She took a draft of Polyjuice Potion containing one of my hairs. We took on each other’s appearance.”

Winky was shaking her head, trembling.

“Say no more, Master Barty, say no more, you is getting your father into trouble!”

“The dementors are blind. They sensed one healthy, one dying person entering Azkaban. They sensed one healthy, one dying person leaving it. My father smuggled me out, disguised as my mother, in case any prisoners were watching through their doors.

“My mother died a short while afterward in Azkaban. She was careful to drink Polyjuice Potion until the end. She was buried under my name and bearing my appearance. Everyone believed her to be me.”

“And what did your father do with you, when he had got you home?” said Dumbledore quietly.

“Staged my mother’s death. A quiet, private funeral. That grave is empty. The house-elf nursed me back to health. Then I had to be concealed. I had to be controlled. My father had to use a number of spells to subdue me. When I had recovered my strength, I thought only of finding my master . . . of returning to his service.”

“How did your father subdue you?” said Dumbledore.

“The Imperius Curse,” Emile whispered. “I was under my father’s control. I was forced to wear an Invisibility Cloak day and night. I was always with the house-elf. She was my keeper and caretaker. She pitied me. She persuaded my father to give me occasional treats. Rewards for my good behavior.”

“Master Barty, Master Barty,” sobbed Winky through her hands. “You isn’t ought to tell them, we is getting in trouble. . . .”

“Did anybody ever discover that you were still alive?” said Dumbledore softly. “Did anyone know except your father and the house-elf?”

“Yes,” said Emile, her eyelids flickering. “A witch in my father’s office. Bertha Jorkins. She came to the house with papers for my father’s signature. He was not at home. Winky showed her inside and returned to the kitchen, to me. But Bertha Jorkins heard Winky talking to me. She came to investigate. She heard enough to guess who was hiding under the Invisibility Cloak. My father arrived home. She confronted him. He put a very powerful Memory Charm on her to make her forget what she’d found out. Too powerful. He said it damaged her memory permanently.”

“Why is she coming to nose into my master’s private business?” sobbed Winky. “Why isn’t she leaving us be?”

“Tell me about the Quidditch World Cup,” said Dumbledore.

“Winky talked my father into it,” said Crouch, still in the same monotonous voice. “She spent months persuading him. I had not left the house for years. I had loved Quidditch. Let him go, she said. He will be in his Invisibility Cloak. He can watch. Let him smell fresh air for once. She said my mother would have wanted it. She told my father that my mother had died to give me freedom. She had not saved me for a life of imprisonment. He agreed in the end.”

“It was carefully planned. My father led me and Winky up to the Top Box early in the day. Winky was to say that she was saving a seat for my father. I was to sit there, invisible. When everyone had left the box, we would emerge. Winky would appear to be alone. Nobody would ever know.”

“But Winky didn’t know that I was growing stronger. I was starting to fight my father’s Imperius Curse. There were times when I was almost myself again. There were brief periods when I seemed outside his control. It happened, there, in the Top Box. It was like waking from a deep sleep. I found myself out in public, in the middle of the match, and I saw, in front of me, a wand sticking out of a boy’s pocket. I had not been allowed a wand since before Azkaban. I stole it. Winky didn’t know. Winky is frightened of heights. She had her face hidden.”

“Master Barty, you bad boy!” whispered Winky, tears trickling between her fingers.

“So you took the wand,” said Dumbledore, “and what did you do with it?”

“We went back to the tent,” said Crouch. “Then we heard them. We heard the Death Eaters. The ones who had never been to Azkaban. The ones who had never suffered for my master. They had turned their backs on him. They were not enslaved, as I was. They were free to seek him, but they did not. They were merely making sport of Muggles. The sound of their voices awoke me. My mind was clearer than it had been in years. I was angry. I had the wand. I wanted to attack them for their disloyalty to my master. My father had left the tent; he had gone to free the Muggles. Winky was afraid to see me so angry. She used her own brand of magic to bind me to her. She pulled me from the tent, pulled me into the forest, away from the Death Eaters. I tried to hold her back. I wanted to return to the campsite. I wanted to show those Death Eaters what loyalty to the Dark Lord meant, and to punish them for their lack of it. I used the stolen wand to cast the Dark Mark into the sky.”

“Ministry wizards arrived. They shot Stunning Spells everywhere. One of the spells came through the trees where Winky and I stood. The bond connecting us was broken. We were both Stunned.” Emile let out somewhat of a laugh.

“When Winky was discovered, my father knew I must be nearby. He searched the bushes where she had been found and felt me lying there. He waited until the other Ministry members had left the forest. He put me back under the Imperius Curse and took me home. He dismissed Winky. She had failed him. She had let me acquire a wand. She had almost let me escape.”

Winky let out a wail of despair.

“Now it was just Father and I, alone in the house. And then . . . and then . . .” Emile’s head rolled on her neck, and an insane grin spread across her face. “My master came for me. “He arrived at our house late one night in the arms of his servant Wormtail. My master had found out that I was still alive. He had captured Bertha Jorkins in Albania. He had tortured her. She told him a great deal. She told him about the Triwizard Tournament. She told him the old Auror, Moody, was going to teach at Hogwarts. He tortured her until he broke through the Memory Charm my father had placed upon her. She told him I had escaped from Azkaban. She told him my father kept me imprisoned to prevent me from seeking my master. And so my master knew that I was still his faithful servant — perhaps the most faithful of all. My master conceived a plan, based upon the information Bertha had given him. He needed me. He arrived at our house near midnight. My father answered the door.”

“It was very quick. My father was placed under the Imperius Curse by my master. Now my father was the one imprisoned, controlled. My master forced him to go about his business as usual, to act as though nothing was wrong. And I was released. I awoke. I was myself again, alive as I hadn’t been in years.”

“And what did Lord Voldemort ask you to do?” said Dumbledore.

“He asked me whether I was ready to risk everything for him. I was ready. It was my dream, my greatest ambition, to serve him, to prove myself to him. He told me he needed to place a faithful servant at Hogwarts. A servant who would guide Harry Potter through the Triwizard Tournament without appearing to do so. A servant who would watch over Harry Potter. Ensure he reached the Triwizard Cup. Turn the cup into a Portkey, which would take the first person to touch it to my master. But first —”

“You needed Alastor Moody,” said Dumbledore. His blue eyes were blazing, though his voice remained calm.

“Wormtail and I did it. We had prepared the Polyjuice Potion beforehand. We journeyed to his house. Moody put up a struggle. There was a commotion. We managed to subdue him just in time. Forced him into a compartment of his own magical trunk. Took some of his hair and added it to the potion. I drank it; I became Moody’s double. I took his leg and his eye. I was ready to face Arthur Weasley when he arrived to sort out the Muggles who had heard a disturbance. I made the dustbins move around the yard. I told Arthur Weasley I had heard intruders in my yard, who had set off the dustbins. Then I packed up Moody’s clothes and Dark detectors, put them in the trunk with Moody, and set off for Hogwarts. I kept him alive, under the Imperius Curse. I wanted to be able to question him. To find out about his past, learn his habits, so that I could fool even Dumbledore. I also needed his hair to make the Polyjuice Potion. The other ingredients were easy. I stole boomslang skin from the dungeons. When the Potions master found me in his office, I said I was under orders to search it.”

“And what became of Wormtail after you attacked Moody?” said Dumbledore.

“Wormtail returned to care for my master, in my father’s house, and to keep watch over my father.”

“But your father escaped,” said Dumbledore.

“Yes. After a while he began to fight the Imperius Curse just as I had done. There were periods when he knew what was happening. My master decided it was no longer safe for my father to leave the house. He forced him to send letters to the Ministry instead. He made him write and say he was ill. But Wormtail neglected his duty. He was not watchful enough. My father escaped. My master guessed that he was heading for Hogwarts. My father was going to tell Dumbledore everything, to confess. He was going to admit that he had smuggled me from Azkaban.”

“My master sent me word of my father’s escape. He told me to stop him at all costs. So I waited and watched. I used the map I had taken from Harry Potter. The map that had almost ruined everything.”

“Map?” said Dumbledore quickly. “What map is this?”

“Potter’s map of Hogwarts. Potter saw me on it. Potter saw me stealing more ingredients for the Polyjuice Potion from Snape’s office one night. He thought I was my father. We have the same first name. I took the map from Potter that night. I told him my father hated Dark wizards. Potter believed my father was after Snape.

“For a week I waited for my father to arrive at Hogwarts. At last, one evening, the map showed my father entering the grounds. I pulled on my Invisibility Cloak and went down to meet him. He was walking around the edge of the forest. Then Potter came, and Krum. I waited. I could not hurt Potter; my master needed him. Potter ran to get Dumbledore. I Stunned Krum. I killed my father.”

“Noooo!” wailed Winky. “Master Barty, Master Barty, what is you saying?”

“You killed your father,” Dumbledore said, in the same soft voice. “What did you do with the body?”

“Carried it into the forest. Covered it with the Invisibility Cloak. I had the map with me. I watched Potter run into the castle. He met Snape. Dumbledore joined them. I watched Potter bringing Dumbledore out of the castle. I walked back out of the forest, doubled around behind them, went to meet them. I told Dumbledore Snape had told me where to come.”

“Dumbledore told me to go and look for my father. I went back to my father’s body. Watched the map. When everyone was gone, I Transfigured my father’s body. He became a bone . . . I buried it, while wearing the Invisibility Cloak, in the freshly dug earth in front of Hagrid’s cabin.”

There was complete silence now, except for Winky’s continued sobs. Then Dumbledore said, “And tonight . . .”

“I offered to carry the Triwizard Cup into the maze before dinner,” whispered Emile. “Turned it into a Portkey. My master’s plan worked. He is returned to power and I will be honored by him beyond the dreams of wizards.”

“EMILE!” An extremely bright light was shining into her eyes. Emile sat up with a start, waving her hands through the air.

“Someone hold her down!” That was Madame Pomfrey.

“I’m very sorry about this,” Bill’s voice sounded in her ear as he pinned her to the ground until she stopped trying to escape.

“Emile, are you back?” Mrs. Weasley asked somewhat hesitantly.

“Back from where? I’ve been here the whole time, haven’t I?” Emile felt another tear slide down her face.”Oh no, it happened again!”

“What did?” Madame Pomfrey asked, bewildered as Emile began to sob again.

At that moment, Severus Snape came into the room.

“Madame Pomfrey, if you aren’t too busy the headmaster needs you to go to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room with me to fetch an injured personnel,” he said looking around the room.

Emile momentarily made eye contact with the potions master through her tears, but looked away quickly.

“Severus, you’re more knowledgeable of the dark arts then I am, perhaps you could take a look at Miss Gorska while I leave for a moment?” Madame Pomfrey didn’t wait for a response, she was already out the door of the hospital wing.

“As much as I would love to help I’m afraid the headmaster asked me to fetch the Minister of Magic from the grounds,” Professor Snape sniffed.

“I can fetch him, you can take a quick look to see if it’s something you know about,” Bill stood up and left the room as quickly as Madame Pomfrey.

“Seeing as though I have no choice,” Snape let out a sigh and put his head in his hands. “What seems to be the problem?”

“We aren’t sure exactly,” Mrs. Weasley said cautiously as Snape walked over to Emile.

“Well, I can’t diagnose something if you don’t know anything about it,” he seethed, crouching down next to where Emile was drying her tears.

“It’s that scar of hers,” George’s voice sounded behind Snape as he came into the room, followed by Fred.

“We’ve been listening for a few minutes,” Fred said, sitting down next to his mother.

“What scar?” Snape asked dryly.

“This scar?” Emile pulled down the scarf around her neck to reveal the pink zigzag going down on one side of her neck.

“Emile how many other scars have you gotten recently?” Fred attempted to lighten the mood but received an angry pinch from his mother.

“A cursed scar,” Snape said thoughtfully. “Tell me, Miss Gorska, did you receive this at the Quidditch World Cup?”

“Unfortunately,” Emile sniffed and wiped her nose.

“Do you remember anything about the death eater who did this?”

Emile frowned as she thought back to nine months ago. “I don’t, I mean, I’m trying to. But it’s like the memories blocked out, every time I think about it, it hurts.”  
“The scar?” Snape was frowning at her.

“No, my toenails. Of course the scar!” Emile seethed and grabbed her neck as a flash of pain came from it.

“I’ve brought the minister!” Bill ran into the room with Cornelius Fudge.

“Out of my way!” Madame Pomfrey yelled behind them as she came in with Mad Eye Moody floating on a stretcher behind her.

“I’ll be back later,” Snape turned away and left the room, beckoning for the Minister to follow him.

Mrs. Weasley helped Emile into a hospital bed and left her with Fred and George as she went to talk to Ron and Hermione, who had just ran into the room. Madame Pomfrey was looking after Professor Moody, who was in a terrible state for someone whom had looked fine less than an hour ago.

As soon as the nurse had finished what she was doing, drawing the curtains around Mad Eye Moody, the Weasley family was on her, demanding to know where Harry was. At that moment, Professor Dumbledore strode in with the young champion and triwizard tournament winner and a large black dog.

Mrs. Weasley let out a kind of muffled scream. “Harry! Oh Harry!”

She started to hurry toward him, but Dumbledore moved between them.

“Molly,” he said, holding up a hand, “please listen to me for a moment. Harry has been through a terrible ordeal tonight. He has just had to relive it for me. What he needs now is sleep, and peace, and quiet. If he would like you all to stay with him,” he added, looking around at Ron, Hermione, and Bill too, “you may do so. But I do not want you questioning him until he is ready to answer, and certainly not this evening.”

Mrs. Weasley nodded. She was very white. She rounded on Ron,� Hermione, and Bill as though they were being noisy, and hissed, “Did you hear? He needs quiet!”

“Headmaster,” said Madam Pomfrey, staring at the great black dog, “may I ask what — ?”

“This dog will be remaining with Harry for a while,” said Dumbledore simply. “I assure you, he is extremely well trained. Harry — I will wait while you get into bed.”

“I will be back to see you as soon as I have met with Fudge, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “I would like you to remain here tomorrow until I have spoken to the school.” He left.

“Is he okay?” Harry asked as he passed Mad Eye Moody.

“He’ll be fine,” said Madam Pomfrey, giving Harry some pajamas and pulling screens around him.

As Harry fell asleep a few beds down, Emile did the same, holding George’s hand.

She woke half an hour later with a start. Her scar was burning.

“Can’t breathe,” she whispered as she felt the warmth draining out of her.

What was that thing? It looked an awful lot like a Dementor, but it’s hood was lowered. It had a terrible gaping black hole for a mouth. Emile could see something silver being sucked into it.

**_I can sense you poking around in my head._ **

**Wow, who is this?**

**_Bartemius Crouch Junior._ **

**Are you the one who’s been poking around my head all school year?**

**_Emile, it’s you who’ve been poking around mine._ **

**How do you know my name?**

**_I’ve been teaching you all school year, disguised as that nutty auror Mad Eye Moody._ **

**Oh. I remember now, so I wasn’t hallucinating when you confessed to Dumbledore?**

**_I took a page out of my master’s book and created a Horcrux, now I can’t die._ **

**I don’t know why you’re telling me this.**

**_You’re bright, figure it out on your own. This dementor is sucking my soul out of my body, soon most of my conscious self will be gone, except for the bit I’ve hidden inside you._ **

**You’re insane.**

**_I just want to please someone in life. If my father wouldn’t appreciate me then I’d go to someone who would. It’ll be nice talking to you over the course of your entire life,or until I get set free._ **

**Or killed.**

**_In order to kill me, you’d have to kill yourself. I can see inside your mind, Emile Victoria Gorska. I can see that the one thing you would never be able to do, is kill yourself._ **

 


	37. Fudge in Denial

Emile was lying on the floor. It was very cold. She tentatively opened one eye to see George and Angelina staring down at her, tears on their face. Fred had his arms around Angelina.

“Did someone die?” Emile croaked weakly, attempting to sit up.

“Emile!” Angelina wrapped her arms around her.

“Well, we thought you died, you know. Just now,” Fred stared at her.

“You were so cold, and your heart stopped,” George wrapped his arm around her too.

“Quiet!” Mrs. Weasley hissed from where she was sitting with Harry, still.

Yelling was coming from down the hall. Emile struggled to her feet, supported by George, and hobbled over to where Harry was lying. He had just woken up, and was blinking sleepily around the group.

“They’ll wake him if they don’t shut up!” “What are they shouting about? Nothing else can have happened, can it?”

“That’s Fudge’s voice,” she whispered. “And that’s Minerva McGonagall’s, isn’t it? But what are they arguing about?”

“Regrettable, but all the same, Minerva —” Cornelius Fudge was saying loudly.

“You should never have brought it inside the castle!” yelled Professor McGonagall. “When Dumbledore finds out —”

The hospital doors swung open. The two arguing adults came in, arguing loudly and causing the people in the wing to stare at them.

“Where’s Dumbledore?” Fudge demanded of Mrs. Weasley.

“He’s not here,” said Mrs. Weasley angrily. “This is a hospital wing, Minister, don’t you think you’d do better to —”

But the door opened, and Dumbledore came sweeping up the ward.

“What has happened?” said Dumbledore sharply, looking from Fudge to Professor McGonagall. “Why are you disturbing these people? Minerva, I’m surprised at you — I asked you to stand guard over Barty Crouch —”

“There is no need to stand guard over him anymore, Dumbledore!” she shrieked. “The Minister has seen to that!”

Professor Snape swept into the room, his arms crossed.

“When we told Mr. Fudge that we had caught the Death Eater responsible for tonight’s events,” said Snape, in a low voice, “he seemed to feel his personal safety was in question. He insisted on summoning a dementor to accompany him into the castle. He brought it up to the office where Barty Crouch —”

“I told him you would not agree, Dumbledore!” Professor McGonagall fumed. “I told him you would never allow dementors to set foot inside the castle, but —”

“My dear woman!” roared Fudge, who likewise looked angrier than Emille had ever seen him, “as Minister of Magic, it is my decision whether I wish to bring protection with me when interviewing a possibly dangerous —”

But Professor McGonagall’s voice drowned Fudge’s.

“The moment that — that thing entered the room,” she screamed, pointing at Fudge, trembling all over, “it swooped down on Crouch and — and —”  

Emile remembered the silver light.

**Did it hurt?**

**_Did what hurt?_ **

**When they sucked out your soul?**

**_Of course it did, what kind of question is that?_ **

“It sucked out your soul,” she whispered, half to herself.

“What?” George looked at her, confused.

“By all accounts, he is no loss!” blustered Fudge. “It seems he has been responsible for several deaths!”

**_You’ve got that right, you old coot._ **

**Merlin’s beard do you ever shut up?**

**_I’m in your head. Not like I’ll have anyone else to talk to._ **

“But he cannot now give testimony, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore. He was staring hard at Fudge, as though seeing him plainly for the first time. “He cannot give evidence about why he killed those people.”

“Why he killed them? Well, that’s no mystery, is it?” blustered Fudge. “He was a raving lunatic! From what Minerva and Severus have told me, he seems to have thought he was doing it all on You-Know-Who’s instructions!”

“Lord Voldemort was giving him instructions, Cornelius,” Dumbledore said. “Those people’s deaths were mere by-products of a plan to restore Voldemort to full strength again. The plan succeeded. Voldemort has been restored to his body.”

“You-Know-Who . . . returned? Preposterous. Come now, Dumbledore . . .”

**_This conversation is really touching, I never knew I was so important to all of these people._ **

**You weren’t until you began to kill people off.**

**_That’s besides the point._ **

“As Minerva and Severus have doubtless told you,” said Dumbledore, “we heard Barry Crouch confess. Under the influence of Veritaserum, he told us how he was smuggled out of Azkaban, and how Voldemort — learning of his continued existence from Bertha Jorkins — went to free him from his father and used him to capture Harry. The plan worked, I tell you. Crouch has helped Voldemort to return.”

“See here, Dumbledore,” said Fudge, and Emile was astonished to see a slight smile dawning on his face, “you — you can’t seriously believe that. You-Know-Who — back? Come now, come now . . . certainly, Crouch may have believed himself to be acting upon You-Know-Who’s orders — but to take the word of a lunatic like that, Dumbledore . . .”

“When Harry touched the Triwizard Cup tonight, he was transported straight to Voldemort,” said Dumbledore steadily. “He witnessed Lord Voldemort’s rebirth. I will explain it all to you if you will step up to my office.”

“I am afraid I cannot permit you to question Harry tonight.”

**_Yeah you tell that old badger off, Dumbledore._ **

Fudge’s curious smile lingered. He too glanced at Harry, then looked back at Dumbledore, and said, “You are — er — prepared to take Harry’s word on this, are you, Dumbledore?”

The silence that followed Fudge’s words was broken by the deep growl of the black dog by Harry.

“Certainly, I believe Harry,” said Dumbledore. His eyes were blazing now. “I heard Crouch’s confession, and I heard Harry’s account of what happened after he touched the Triwizard Cup; the two stories make sense, they explain everything that has happened since Bertha Jorkins disappeared last summer.”

Fudge still had that strange smile on his face. Once again, he glanced at Harry before answering. “

You are prepared to believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, on the word of a lunatic murderer, and a boy who . . . well . . .”

Fudge shot Harry another look.

“You’ve been reading Rita Skeeter, Mr. Fudge,” Harry said quietly.

Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, and Bill all jumped. None of them had realized that Harry was awake.

Fudge reddened slightly, but a defiant and obstinate look came over his face.

“And if I have?” he said, looking at Dumbledore. “If I have discovered that you’ve been keeping certain facts about the boy very quiet? A Parselmouth, eh? And having funny turns all over the place —”

“I assume that you are referring to the pains Harry has been experiencing in his scar?” said Dumbledore coolly.

“You admit that he has been having these pains, then?” said Fudge quickly. “Headaches? Nightmares? Possibly — hallucinations?”

“Listen to me, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore, taking a step toward Fudge, and once again, he seemed to radiate that indefinable  sense of power that Harry had felt after Dumbledore had Stunned young Crouch. “Harry is as sane as you or I. That scar upon his forehead has not addled his brains. I believe it hurts him when Lord Voldemort is close by, or feeling particularly murderous.”

**I wish I could look at you, because if I could I would stare through whatever’s left of your soul.**

**_Well now you have an idea about what could be up with Harry._ **

**Why would Voldemort make the person he want’s to kill a horcrux?**

**_You bring up a good point._ **

Fudge had taken half a step back from Dumbledore, but he looked no less stubborn. “You’ll forgive me, Dumbledore, but I’ve never heard of a curse scar acting as an alarm bell before. . . .”

“Look, I saw Voldemort come back!” Harry shouted. He tried to get out of bed again, but Mrs. Weasley forced him back. “I saw the Death Eaters! I can give you their names! Lucius Malfoy —”

Snape made a sudden movement, but as Harry looked at him, Snape’s eyes flew back to Fudge.

“Malfoy was cleared!” said Fudge, visibly affronted. “A very old family — donations to excellent causes —”

“Macnair!” Harry continued.

“Also cleared! Now working for the Ministry!”

“Avery — Nott — Crabbe — Goyle —”

“You are merely repeating the names of those who were acquitted of being Death Eaters thirteen years ago!” said Fudge angrily. “You could have found those names in old reports of the trials! For heaven’s sake, Dumbledore — the boy was full of some crackpot story at the end of last year too — his tales are getting taller, and you’re still swallowing them — the boy can talk to snakes, Dumbledore, and you still think he’s trustworthy?”

“You fool!” Professor McGonagall cried. “Cedric Diggory! Mr. Crouch! These deaths were not the random work of a lunatic!”

Emile winced as she thought of her cousin.

**_Sorry about that, but the good, self righteous people just get in the way sometimes._ **

**So am I just going to have a constant, nagging voice in my head now?**

**_Pretty much._ **

“I see no evidence to the contrary!” shouted Fudge, now matching her anger, his face purpling. “It seems to me that you are all determined to start a panic that will destabilize everything we have worked for these last thirteen years!”

“He’s a lunatic,” Fred muttered to George, who nodded in agreement.

“Voldemort has returned,” Dumbledore repeated. “If you accept that fact straightaway, Fudge, and take the necessary measures, we may still be able to save the situation. The first and most essential step is to remove Azkaban from the control of the dementors —”

“Preposterous!” shouted Fudge again. “Remove the dementors? I’d be kicked out of office for suggesting it! Half of us only feel safe in our beds at night because we know the dementors are standing guard at Azkaban!”

“The rest of us sleep less soundly in our beds, Cornelius, knowing that you have put Lord Voldemort’s most dangerous supporters in the care of creatures who will join him the instant he asks them!” said Dumbledore. “They will not remain loyal to you, Fudge! Voldemort can offer them much more scope for their powers and their pleasures than you can! With the dementors behind him, and his old supporters returned to him, you will be hardpressed to stop him regaining the sort of power he had thirteen years ago!”

Fudge was opening and closing his mouth as though no words could express his outrage

“The second step you must take — and at once,” Dumbledore pressed on, “is to send envoys to the giants.”

“Envoys to the giants?” Fudge shrieked, finding his tongue again. “What madness is this?”

**_This guy is hilarious, look at him. He’s in the depths of denial._ **

**Dear lord.**

“Extend them the hand of friendship, now, before it is too late,” said Dumbledore, “or Voldemort will persuade them, as he did before, that he alone among wizards will give them their rights and their freedom!”

“You — you cannot be serious!” Fudge gasped, shaking his head and retreating further from Dumbledore. “If the magical community got wind that I had approached the giants — people hate them, Dumbledore — end of my career —”

“You are blinded,” said Dumbledore, his voice rising now, the aura of power around him palpable, his eyes blazing once more, “by the love of the office you hold, Cornelius! You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! You fail to recognize that it matters not what someone is born, but what they grow to be! Your dementor has just destroyed the last remaining member of a pure-blood family as old as any — and see what that man chose to make of his life! I tell you now — take the steps I have suggested, and you will be remembered, in office or out, as one of the bravest and greatest Ministers of Magic we have ever known. Fail to act — and history will remember you as the man who stepped aside and allowed Voldemort a second chance to destroy the world we have tried to rebuild!”

“Insane,” whispered Fudge, still backing away. “Mad . . .”

And then there was silence. Madam Pomfrey was standing frozen at the foot of Harry’s bed, her hands over her mouth. Mrs. �Weasley was still standing over Harry, her hand on his shoulder to prevent him from rising. Emile, Angelina, Fred, George, Bill, Ron, and Hermione were staring at Fudge.

“If your determination to shut your eyes will carry you as far as this, Cornelius,” said Dumbledore, “we have reached a parting of the ways. You must act as you see fit. And I — I shall act as I see fit.”

Dumbledore’s voice carried no hint of a threat; it sounded like a mere statement, but Fudge bristled as though Dumbledore were advancing upon him with a wand.

“Now, see here, Dumbledore,” he said, waving a threatening finger. “I’ve given you free rein, always. I’ve had a lot of respect for you. I might not have agreed with some of your decisions, but I’ve kept quiet. There aren’t many who’d have let you hire werewolves, or keep Hagrid, or decide what to teach your students without reference to the Ministry. But if you’re going to work against me —”

“The only one against whom I intend to work,” said Dumbledore, “is Lord Voldemort. If you are against him, then we remain, Cornelius, on the same side.”

It seemed Fudge could think of no answer to this. He rocked backward and forward on his small feet for a moment and spun his bowler hat in his hands. Finally, he said, with a hint of a plea in his voice, “He can’t be back, Dumbledore, he just can’t be . . .”

Snape strode forward, past Dumbledore, pulling up the left sleeve of his robes as he went. He stuck out his forearm and showed it to Fudge, who recoiled.

“There,” said Snape harshly. “There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can� still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched the Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff’s too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord’s vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold.”

Fudge stepped back from Snape too. He was shaking his head. He did not seem to have taken in a word Snape had said.

He stared, apparently repelled by the ugly mark on Snape’s arm, then looked up at Dumbledore and whispered, “I don’t know what you and your staff are playing at, Dumbledore, but I have heard enough. I have no more to add. I will be in touch with you tomorrow, Dumbledore, to discuss the running of this school. I must return to the Ministry.”

He had almost reached the door when he paused. He turned around, strode back down the dormitory, and stopped at Harry’s bed.

“Your winnings,” he said shortly, taking a large bag of gold out of his pocket and dropping it onto Harry’s bedside table. “One thousand Galleons. There should have been a presentation ceremony, but under the circumstances . . .”

**_Wow, rude._ **

**I know, right?**

He crammed his bowler hat onto his head and walked out of the room, slamming the door behind him. The moment he had disappeared, Dumbledore turned to look at the group around Harry’s bed.

“There is work to be done,” he said. “Molly . . . am I right in thinking that I can count on you and Arthur?”

“Of course you can,” said Mrs. Weasley.

She was white to the lips, but she looked resolute.

“We know what Fudge is. It’s Arthur’s fondness for Muggles that has held him back at the Ministry all these years. Fudge thinks he lacks proper wizarding pride.”

“Then I need to send a message to Arthur,” said Dumbledore. “All those that we can persuade of the truth must be notified immediately, and he is well placed to contact those at the Ministry who are not as shortsighted as Cornelius.”

“I’ll go to Dad,” said Bill, standing up. “I’ll go now.”

“Excellent,” said Dumbledore. “Tell him what has happened. Tell him I will be in direct contact with him shortly. He will need to be discreet, however. If Fudge thinks I am interfering at the Ministry —”

“Leave it to me,” said Bill. He kissed his mother on the cheek, pulled on his cloak, and strode quickly from the room.

“Minerva,” said Dumbledore, turning to Professor McGonagall, “I want to see Hagrid in my office as soon as possible. Also — if she will consent to come — Madame Maxime.” Professor McGonagall nodded and left without a word.

“Poppy,” Dumbledore said to Madam Pomfrey, “would you be very kind and go down to Professor Moody’s office, where I think you will find a house-elf called Winky in considerable distress? Do what you can for her, and take her back to the kitchens. I think Dobby will look after her for us.”

“Very — very well,” said Madam Pomfrey, looking startled, and she too left.

Emile looked around the group of mainly students in the hospital wing now.

Dumbledore made sure that the door was closed, and that Madam Pomfrey’s footsteps had died away, before he spoke again.

“And now,” he said, “it is time for two of our number to recognize each other for what they are. Sirius . . . if you could resume your usual form.”

The great black dog looked up at Dumbledore, then, in an instant, turned back into a man. Mrs. Weasley screamed and leapt back from the bed.

“Sirius Black!” she shrieked, pointing at him.

“Mum, shut up!” Ron yelled. “It’s okay!”

Snape had not yelled or jumped backward, but the look on his face was one of mingled fury and horror. “Him!” he snarled, staring at Sirius, whose face showed equal dislike. “What is he doing here?”

“He is here at my invitation,” said Dumbledore, looking between them, “as are you, Severus. I trust you both. It is time for you to lay aside your old differences and trust each other.” Sirius and Snape were eyeing each other with the utmost loathing.

“I will settle, in the short term,” said Dumbledore, with a bite of impatience in his voice, “for a lack of open hostility. You will shake hands. You are on the same side now. Time is short, and unless the few of us who know the truth do not stand united, there is no hope for any of us.”

Very slowly — but still glaring at each other as though each wished the other nothing but ill — Sirius and Snape moved toward each other and shook hands. They let go extremely quickly.

“That will do to be going on with,” said Dumbledore, stepping between them once more. “Now I have work for each of you. Fudge’s attitude, though not unexpected, changes everything. Sirius, I need you to set off at once. You are to alert Remus Lupin, Arabella Figg, Mundungus Fletcher — the old crowd. Lie low at Lupins for a while; I will contact you there.”

“But —” said Harry.

You’ll see me very soon, Harry,” said Sirius, turning to him. “I promise you. But I must do what I can, you understand, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Yeah . . . of course I do.”

Sirius grasped his hand briefly, nodded to Dumbledore, transformed again into the black dog, and ran the length of the room to the door, whose handle he turned with a paw. Then he was gone.

“Severus,” said Dumbledore, turning to Snape, “you know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready . . . if you are prepared . . .”

“I am,” said Snape. He looked slightly paler than usual, and his cold, black eyes glittered strangely.

“Then good luck,” said Dumbledore, and he watched, with a trace of apprehension on his face, as Snape swept wordlessly after Sirius.

**_Where is Snape headed off to?_ **

**What makes you think I would know?**

**_He’s quite fond of you, says you’re the best Gryffindor he’s seen in a long time._ **

**He’s been ignoring me all year. Besides, it’s not like students have intimate conversations with their teachers.**

It was several minutes before Dumbledore spoke again. “I must go downstairs,” he said finally.

“I must see the Diggory’s. Harry — take the rest of your potion. Miss Emile, come with me. I will see all of you later.”

Emile followed Dumbledore as he swept out of the room.

“Professor, did Snape tell you about my scar?” Emile asked as she left the room.

“Yes, he did. And I think by now we both know what it is, isn’t that right Miss Emile?” Professor Dumbledore was not smiling as the walked down the main staircase.

“A horcrux.”

Professor Dumbledore winced as she said this. “And has Bartemius said anything since he entered your head?”

“He was making some rather rude comments about Cornelius Fudge,” Emile began.

**_Tell him I’ve won._ **

**Who says you’ve won? There’s probably still a way I can get rid of you, at the very least block you out.**

**_Oh but Emile, what’s the fun in that? Besides, I was just starting to like you_  ** _._

“You’re talking to him now, aren’t you?” Professor Dumbledore interrupted the mental conversation.

Emile blushed, “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. Now you’re just communicating with the small voice in your head.” Professor Dumbledore stopped outside of the hallway leading down to the kitchen.

“There is a lot going on at the moment that I need to take care of, but I promise that as soon as possible I will send you information on what is going on inside your head, as well as several ways you can deal with it.”

**_Oh, boo._ **

“I don’t mind waiting,” Emile gave a weak smile.

“Good, then let us go speak with your Aunt and Uncle.”

 


	38. Goodbye

Emile spent the next few days crying on and off. She tried not to cry in public, but sometimes a tear would leak out, and she wouldn’t be able to stop it. Thankfully, the small voice in her head managed to keep a lid on it during times like these to the point that she almost forgot he was there at times.

The morning after his death she had gone with her Aunt and Uncle to talk to Harry. She knew the story, so she sat silently, holding her Aunt’s hand as it was recapped.They did not blame him for what had happened; on the contrary, both thanked him for returning Cedric’s body to them. Mr. Diggory sobbed through most of the interview. Mrs. Diggory’s grief seemed to be beyond tears.

“He suffered very little then,” she said. “And after all, Amos . . . he died just when he’d won the tournament. He must have been happy.”

When they got to their feet, she looked down at Harry and said, “You look after yourself, now.”

Harry seized the sack of gold on the bedside table.

“You take this,” he muttered to her. “It should’ve been Cedric’s, he got there first, you take it —”

But Mrs. Diggory backed away from him.

“Oh no, it’s yours, dear, I couldn’t . . . you keep it.”

Many people were spreading nasty rumors about poor Harry. They seemed to believe the nasty article Rita Skeeter had written not long ago, about how he was a crazy teen going through a mental breakdown. All Horserubbish.

Emile was slowly getting used to having another voice in her head. Bartemius was somewhat nice, when he wasn’t raving about the dark lord and his plans.

She wasn’t looking forward to going home for the summer. Mr. and Mrs. Diggory were having Cedric’s funeral the day after she got back, and Emile didn’t think she could bear being all alone with Mrs. Diggory all day while her husband was at work.

Fred and George had promised to ask their mother if she could come spend the summer with them which was something Emile would really look forward to. Apparently, there was a different plan.

The final day of term, mere hours before the closing feast, a nervous first year came into the sixth years dormitories with a note for Emile.

_Miss Gorska,_

_Will you kindly come to my office upon receiving this message? Head to the statue of the stone gargoyle and simply tell it the name of your favorite candy._

_Professor Albus Dumbledore_

“Have fun, we’ll take the loft bed down for you!” Angelina called after her as she went out the the room, Carrot perched on her shoulder. It took Emile several minutes to locate the stone gargoyle statue.

She desperately wished she had the Marauder’s Map, but the twins had given it to Harry, who had given it to Bartemius Crouch Jr.

**_It’s in the office, I’ve said this before._ **

**Alright then we’ll go get it after this meeting.**

**_Turn right here, the statue is down that hall._ **

**Why should I trust you?**

**_I’m older than you, you ought to respect your superiors._ **

**You’re nothing but a voice in my head. Oh, there’s the gargoyle.**

**_See? I can be nice._ **

Emile rolled her eyes and smiled, despite her attempts not to.

“Chocolate Cauldron,” she said out loud, jumping as the gargoyle leapt aside to reveal a hidden staircase.

**I’d forgotten that I’ve been here before.**

**_Yeah, no kidding._ **

**It’s a bit weird to think that you have access to my memories.**

**_You have access to mine too, you just need to figure out how to get to them._ **

Emile paused at the top of the steps, knocking on the wooden door.

“Come in!” Called the voice of the headmaster.

Emile cautiously opened the door and slid in, closing it carefully behind her. Professor Dumbledore beckoned her forward, to sit down in a chair across the desk from him next to the familiar figure of Professor Snape.

“She’s the horcrux?” A familiar voice said gruffly from behind Dumbledore. The real Mad Eye Moody limped out from behind Dumbledore’s chair, wooden leg thumping on the floor and magic eye whirling in his socket.

“Professor Moody, glad to see you’re alright,” Emile said.

**_He was never really a Professor, that was me. I made a darn good teacher too._ **

**You scared most of the kids half to death.**

**_I was still nicer than this lumox would have been._ **

“Stop talking to him, child,” Professor Moody glared at Emile.

“How did you know?”

“You began to make weird facial expressions. It’s obvious that you’re having a conversation in your head.” He growled, sitting down next to Dumbledore.

“Now Miss Emile, it is vital that you learn Occlumency to protect yourself from suffering a fate not too different from the one Ginny Weasley almost faced two years ago,” professor Dumbledore got straight to business.

“Occlumency?” Emile frowned, she knew she had heard that term somewhere but where.

**_I’ve heard it, not you._ **

**You have?**

**_The Dark Lord is exceptionally gifted in invading one’s mind with Legilimency. Many of us followers attempted to learn it from him, but we didn’t succeed. So instead we learned Occlumency to protect our minds in case someone from the ministry was to attempt to penetrate our minds. Only the Dark Lord could accomplish such tasks as penetrating our minds._ **

“Thank you, Bartemius Crouch jr.” Professor Dumbledore said aloud after a moment.

**_Tell the old bat I say you’re welcome._ **

“He say’s ‘you’re welcome’,” Emile said with an eye roll.

“After your cousins funeral, you will join the Weasley’s in heading to a secret location where you will spend the remainder of your summer. There Professor Snape will meet with you weekly to train your mind,” Dumbledore continued.

“Professor Snape?” Emile looked quizzically at the potions master to her left. He had never shown much interest in her before, why would he accept this task now?

“Professor Snape is a skilled in both Occlumency and Legilimency, no doubt you will be taken care of.” Professor Dumbledore paused and scribbled something out on a piece of paper. “Here is a letter for your Aunt and Uncle. Make sure you give it to them as soon as possible.”

“Will do, Professor.”

Carrot let out a few squeaks from her shoulder, receiving a warm look from Professor Snape.

Emile left the office, heading down the steps and out from behind the Gargoyle. But instead of going to her room to pack she went to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.

**So, where was it exactly?**

**_Go into the office. Ok now the drawer by the golden sneakescope. No the other one._ **

**There’s seven sneakescopes.**

**_Seven’s a magical number._ **

**This drawer?**

**_Yes, that one. With the wood stain that looks like a duck in a scarf._ **

**It looks more like a Penguin doing the splits.**

**_Can you just open it already?_ **

Emile did as she was told, and fell to the floor in shock. The Marauders Map was sitting in the drawer, folded neatly. But on top was something she had been looking for for a long time.

**You took the letter from my father?**

**_Well, yeah. I needed some way to track him. I enter your mind when you become super emotional, you know. When you read this letter at one in the morning after that dramatic ball I was forced to watch through your eyes as you cried out of worry for your father._ **

**So what, I’m not allowed to love my father because you didn’t love yours?**

**_He didn’t love me._ **

**Wait, did you kill my father?**

**_Finally you catch on._ **

**Why?**

**_I couldn’t take a lifetime of watching you cry over your father as he messed up as mine did. Believe me, I did  you a favor._ **

**Bartemius Crouch Jr., I don’t know what exactly your problem is but as long as you are in my head we are going to work on fixing you.**

**_Good luck._ **

The feast was a more solemn affair than usual. The Great Hall was normally decorated with the winning House’s colors for the Leaving Feast. Tonight, however, there were black drapes on the wall behind the teacher’s table. Emile felt a knot form in her stomach as she saw what was obviously meant as a sign of respect for Cedric.

The real Mad-Eye Moody was at the staff table now, his wooden leg and his magical eye back in place. He was extremely twitchy, jumping every time someone spoke to him.

Professor Dumbledore, who stood up at the staff table. The Great Hall, which in any case had been less noisy than it usually was at the Leaving Feast, became very quiet.

“The end,” said Dumbledore, looking around at them all, “of another year.”

He paused, and his eyes fell upon the Hufflepuff table. Theirs had been the most subdued table before he had gotten to his feet, and theirs were still the saddest and palest faces in the Hall.

“There is much that I would like to say to you all tonight,” said Dumbledore, “but I must first acknowledge the loss of a very fine person, who should be sitting here,” he gestured toward the Hufflepuffs, “enjoying our feast with us. I would like you all, please, to stand, and raise your glasses, to Cedric Diggory.”

They did it, all of them; the benches scraped as everyone in the Hall stood, and raised their goblets, and echoed, in one loud, low, rumbling voice, “Cedric Diggory.”

Angelina nudged Emile in the side.

“Look at Cho,” she whispered with a nod towards the Ravenclaw table.

Emile caught a glimpse of Cho through the crowd. There were tears pouring silently down her face.

“Cedric was a person who exemplified many of the qualities that distinguish Hufflepuff house,” Dumbledore continued. “He was a good and loyal friend, a hard worker, he valued fair play. His death has affected you all, whether you knew him well or not. I think that you have the right, therefore, to know exactly how it came about.”

There was a silent pause. Everyone in the hall seemed to be holding their breaths.

“Cedric Diggory was murdered by Lord Voldemort.”

A panicked whisper swept the Great Hall. People were staring at Dumbledore in disbelief, in horror. He looked perfectly calm as he watched them mutter themselves into silence.

“The Ministry of Magic,” Dumbledore continued, “does not wish me to tell you this. It is possible that some of your parents will be horrified that I have done so — either because they will not believe that Lord Voldemort has returned, or because they think I should not tell you so, young as you are. It is my belief, however, that the truth is generally preferable to lies, and that any attempt to pretend that Cedric died as the result of an accident, or some sort of blunder of his own, is an insult to his memory.”

A small chorus of frightened whispers followed Dumbledore’s words. Emile noticed Lee, who was sitting several feet down the table, staring at her. His eyes were unreadable.

“There is somebody else who must be mentioned in connection with Cedric’s death,” Dumbledore went on. “I am talking, of course, about Harry Potter.” A kind of ripple crossed the Great Hall as a few heads turned in Harry’s direction before flicking back to face Dumbledore.

“Harry Potter managed to escape Lord Voldemort,” said Dumbledore. “He risked his own life to return Cedric’s body to Hogwarts. He showed, in every respect, the sort of bravery that few wizards have ever shown in facing Lord Voldemort, and for this, I honor him.”

Dumbledore turned gravely to Harry and raised his goblet once more. Nearly everyone in the Great Hall followed suit. They murmured his name, as they had murmured Cedric’s, and drank to him.

When everyone had once again resumed their seats, Dumbledore continued, “The Triwizard Tournament’s aim was to further and promote magical understanding. In the light of what has happened — of Lord Voldemort’s return — such ties are more important than ever before.”

Dumbledore looked from Madame Maxime and Hagrid, to Fleur Delacour and her fellow Beauxbatons students, to Viktor Krum and the Durmstrangs at the Slytherin table. Krum looked wary, almost frightened, as though he expected Dumbledore to say something harsh.

“Every guest in this Hall,” said Dumbledore, and his eyes lingered upon the Durmstrang students, “will be welcomed back here at any time, should they wish to come. I say to you all, once again — in the light of Lord Voldemort’s return, we are only as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Lord Voldemort’s gift for spreading discord and enmity is very great. We can fight it only by showing an equally strong bond of friendship and trust. Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.”

“It is my belief — and never have I so hoped that I am mistaken — that we are all facing dark and difficult times. Some of you in this Hall have already suffered directly at the hands of Lord Voldemort. Many of your families have been torn asunder. A week ago, a student was taken from our midst.

“Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory.”

Emile was crying at the end of the speech. She didn’t eat much of the meal, the crowd talking about Cedric and Harry was too distracting.

“If Harry and Dumbledore both say Voldemort’s back, then he’s back,” Emile snapped at a fifth year who was talking loudly about how this was a pile of rubbish as they made their way back to the common room.

**_Merlin’s beard Emile, be nice to the small children._ **

“Ignore them, Em,” Fred said with a frown.

“It’s almost as hard as ignoring you two,” Emile said, a momentary smile on her lips.

The next morning Emile had her trunk packed and was waiting by the crowded entrance with Fred and George for the horse drawn carriages to pull up. Students from Durmstrang and Beauxbaton were running around, saying their last goodbye’s as the magnificent ship and carriage were being prepared to leave.

Fleur herself went over to say goodbye to Harry. Emile wouldn’t have noticed if it hadn’t been for Fred laughing at Ron’s red face when she approached him and Harry. Hermione was scowling next to him.

“Emile,” Viktor Krum was walking past her. “It vwas vwonderfull to see you again.”

“You too, Viktor. I hope you do well with your Quidditch career, you are an excellent seeker.”

Viktor smiled and they shook hands before he turned away, pushing through the crowd towards Hermione.

“I still can’t believe he talks to you,” Fred said in amazement as the three of them loaded their trunks into one of the nearby carriages.

“How could he not?” George said with a wink at Emile.

The train ride was enjoyable and calm. Emile had opened up the windows in their compartment, much to the disapproval of Angelina.

“We don’t all have short, manageable hair you know!” She cried indignantly as the wind caused her poofy black hair to slap her in the face.

“Let me help you,” Emile laughed, braiding her friends hair back in a french braid.

“Anything from the trolley?” A cheerful voice asked as she slid open the door to their compartment.

“A pumpkin pastie!” Emile trilled as she pulled out her wallet.

**_You like those? They taste terrible, like soap._ **

**Yeah just like how you probably smelled when you actually took bath’s.**

**_That was very rude and uncalled for._ **

**Says you.**

As she took her food a familiar blonde haired git rushed by with his two goons.

“What’s he up to?” Fred said suspiciously as Draco stopped several compartments down and opened the door.

“Harry’s in that compartment,” George sighed, pulling out his wand.

“Reckon we should check up on him,” Fred grinned, leaving the compartment.

“Wait for me!” Emile took a large bite of her pastie, relishing the pumpkin spice.

She followed the boys and stood out in the hallway behind them, getting momentarily blinded as a stream of hexes and jinxes hit Draco and his pals square on.

“Thought we’d see what those three were up to,” said Fred matter-of-factly, stepping onto Goyle and into the compartment, followed quickly by George and Emile.

“Interesting effect,” said George, looking down at Crabbe. “Who used the Furnunculus Curse?”

“Me,” said Harry.

“Odd,” said George lightly. “I used Jelly-Legs. Looks as though those two shouldn’t be mixed. He seems to have sprouted little tentacles all over his face. Well, let’s not leave them here, they don’t add much to the decor.”

Ron, Harry, and George kicked, rolled, and pushed the unconscious Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle — each of whom looked distinctly the worse for the jumble of jinxes with which they had been hit — out into the corridor, then came back into the compartment and rolled the door shut.

“Exploding Snap, anyone?” said Fred, pulling out a pack of cards.

They were halfway through their fifth game when Harry sprung the anticipated question onto the twins.

“You going to tell us, then?” he said to George. “Who you were blackmailing?”

“Oh,” said George darkly. “That.”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Fred, shaking his head impatiently. “It wasn’t anything important. Not now, anyway.”

“We’ve given up,” said George, shrugging.

But Harry, Ron, and Hermione kept on asking, and finally, Fred said, “All right, all right, if you really want to know . . . it was Ludo Bagman.”

“Bagman?” said Harry sharply. “Are you saying he was involved in —”

“Nah,” said George gloomily. “Nothing like that. Stupid git. He wouldn’t have the brains.”

“Well, what, then?” said Ron.

Fred hesitated, then said, “You remember that bet we had with him at the Quidditch World Cup? About how Ireland would win, but Krum would get the Snitch?”

“Yeah,” said Harry and Ron slowly.

“Well, the git paid us in leprechaun gold he’d caught from the Irish mascots.”

“So?”

“So,” said Fred impatiently, “it vanished, didn’t it? By next morning, it had gone!”

“But — it must’ve been an accident, mustn’t it?” said Hermione.

George laughed very bitterly. “Yeah, that’s what we thought, at first. We thought if we just wrote to him, and told him he’d made a mistake, he’d cough up. But nothing doing. Ignored our letter. We kept trying to talk to him about it at Hogwarts, but he was always making some excuse to get away from us.”

“In the end, he turned pretty nasty,” said Fred. “Told us we were too young to gamble, and he wasn’t giving us anything.”

“So we asked for our money back,” said George glowering.

“He didn’t refuse!” gasped Hermione.

“Right in one,” said Fred.

“But that was all your savings!” said Ron.

“Tell me about it,” said George. “ ’Course, we found out what was going on in the end. Lee Jordan’s dad had had a bit of trouble getting money off Bagman as well. Turns out he’s in big trouble with the goblins. Borrowed loads of gold off them. A gang of them cornered him in the woods after the World Cup and took all the gold he had, and it still wasn’t enough to cover all his debts. They followed him all the way to Hogwarts to keep an eye on him. He’s lost everything gambling. Hasn’t got two Galleons to rub together. And you know how the idiot tried to pay the goblins back?”

“How?” said Harry. “He put a bet on you, mate,” said Fred. “Put a big bet on you to win the tournament. Bet against the goblins.”

“So that’s why he kept trying to help me win!” said Harry. “Well — I did win, didn’t I? So he can pay you your gold!”

“Nope,” said George, shaking his head. “The goblins play as dirty as him. They say you drew with Diggory, and Bagman was betting you’d win outright. So Bagman had to run for it. He did run for it right after the third task.”

George sighed deeply and started dealing out the cards again. Emile gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder, unable to speak through her mouthful of Pumpkin Pastie.

Emile soon got off the train she said goodbye to her friends before disapparating to the Diggory manor, where she was glad to know she wouldn’t have to spend a long time there. She wasn’t eager to be in the house haunted by the ghosts of her past.

**_Hey, at least you’ve got me for company._ **

Emile let out a groan and collapsed onto her bed.

**_Oh, everyone’s a critic._ **

 


	39. Number 12 Grimmuald Place

Emile tugged at her stockings, attempting to pull them up her leg. She was getting dressed for Cedric’s funeral, in her black sundress and black sandals. Mrs. Diggory had braided Emile’s short hair into a crown that went around her head. Emile had thanked her heartily, deciding that for the short time she spent here she was going to be as nice to Mrs. Diggory as she possibly could.

**_Why are girls dresses so much shorter nowadays?_ **

**Because now women are starting to overcome their fear of men and wearing what makes them feel good instead of what society tells them to.**

**_I miss society’s standards._ **

**Oh, shut up.**

Emile went down the hall towards the front door, where Mr. and Mrs. Diggory were waiting for her.

Emile stood behind them as Mrs. Diggory took her husband by the arm, and the three of them disapparated to the local village cemetery. Once they had reached the freshly dug grave of Cedric, his coffin resting next to it, they waited for the guests to come.

A large amount of families who worked at the ministry showed up, as well as a majority of Hufflepuff house. Professor Sprout came, and shed a few tears during her eulogy. Cho Chang, Cedric’s girlfriend, was crying from before she arrived to after left.

**_Pathetic._ **

Emile could almost picture Barty grumbling this as he looked at Cho. He had been opening up a bit, and had consent to showing Emile a single memory of him standing in front of the mirror.

**You look so young!**  She had said to him.

**_That’s because the horcrux in you is the teenage part of me, from around the time I began to convert to the ranks of the Dark Lord._ **

**Like how the Diary contained Tom Riddle and not a fully fledged Dark Lord?**

**_Yes, but you’re much more interesting than a diary._ **

**I would hope so!**

Emile let out a sigh as she stood by Cedric’s grave, staring at his glass headstone.The setting sun caught the engraved words at an angle, illuminating them in a white light.

Here Lies Cedric Diggory

September 30th, 1977-June 24th, 1995

Beloved Son

1994-1995 Triwizard Champion

She felt a tear slide down her cheek as she remembered her first week in the Diggory manor, how Cedric had done his best to made her feel welcome. He was the one who taught her how to ride a horse. He had insisted that they use his horse, Cygnus, for her first ride because it was the only horse Cedric trusted enough to do it.

Cedric had fought for three years with her father to allow her to go to Hogwarts. Her father was scared of letting Emile go. He didn’t want her to leave him alone. But look who was left alone now.

**_I know that you’re sad, but pull yourself together._ **

**You can’t even try to have some empathy?**

**_Not at all, Cedric died for a worthy cause. The Dark Lord is back and stronger than ever._ **

Emile sighed and turned away from the grave, walking over to Mrs. Diggory.

“Here dear, you’re mascara is running,” her aunt fretted and pulled out a tissue, gently dabbing Emile’s face with it.

“Thank you,” Emile sniffed, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Well, now we go back to the manor to be good dinner hosts,” her uncle gave a pained smile. He hadn’t stopped staring at the grave for half an hour.

“If you two want to stay here alone for a little while, I can go check on the catering,” Emile said quickly. She was desperate to leave the cemetery before she started crying again.

“Thank you, Emile,” Mrs. Diggory put a hand on her shoulder for a moment before heading towards the grave with her husband. Emile gave the glistening headstone one final glance before disapparating.

When her bedroom in the Diggory manor came into focus, taken apart and partially in boxes, Emile smoothed out her dress and headed down the long hallway and down the stairs.

“How is everything going in here?” She called as she walked into the bustling kitchen.

“It’s going splendidly, We must thank Professor Dumbledore for sending over some of the Hogwarts house elves to assist with the feast,” Jacques, the chef the Diggory’s usually hired for large events, was beaming around the kitchen.

“I’ll be sure to let Dumbledore know when I see him the day after tomorrow,” Emile curtsied to the chef before turning to walk away.

“Wait, Miss Emile,” he called after her. “Before you go, will you taste test the tiramisu?”

“You made tiramisu?” Emile turned around, grinning.

“Oui, Mrs. Diggory asked me to make all of her son’s favorite foods. I thought, as a surprise, I would make tiramisu. The boy once mentioned to me that he loved the tiramisu you made, I would be thrilled if you tasted mine.”

Emile blushed as the chef spoke. “I suppose I could.”

He immediately clapped his hands and had one of the house elves fetch him a small slice of tiramisu. Emile took a tentative bite, savoring the treat.

“It’s very good, but the ladyfingers are a bit dry. I would soak them in more coffee and rum.” Emile finished the slice quickly as the chef jotted her advice down in a small notebook he carried in his apron.

**_He seems like a nerd._ **

**You’re a nerd. He’s very nice, and makes excellent garlic bread.**

Emile went into the dining room to make sure everything was set up. All of the silverware was set out and the napkins were freshly pressed. There was a fresh flower arrangement of heather and forget-me-not’s graced the center of the long rectangular dinner table.

“Emile, it looks wonderful,” Mrs. Diggory said as she apparated into the room with a pop.

“I only told the house elves what to do, they are the ones who actually did the setting up,” Emile blushed.

At that moment the doorbell rang, and Mrs. Diggory went out into the hall to greet whoever had come. Emile followed, but lingered by the door to the dining room as her aunt greeted a crowd of Ministry officials. She held the door open as the crowd of older men and women swept into the room and began searching for their seats at the dinner table.

Half an hour later, Emile was sitting in between two recent Hogwart’s graduates as they ate through a dinner of roast chicken, baked potatoes, garlic bread, and various salads from around the globe. Emile’s personal favorite, the Polish vegetable salad, was left untouched by many throughout the evening.

**More for me!**

**_Quit patronizing me, the food looks delicious and I can’t eat any of it._ **

**That’s because your soul was sucked out by a dementor, and your body was left in Azkaban to rot.**

**_You know, you’ve grown a lot more feisty since we started talking._ **

**Only to you.**

**_I feel so touched._ **

“Could you pass the salt?” Asked the ex-Ravenclaw on her right.

“Sure,” Emile passed the china salt shaker to him. “You’re Roger Davies, right?”

“Indeed I am. Why, have you heard of me?” He winked provocatively at Emile, who leaned away in disgust.

“Get lost Davies,” came a grumble from her left. That was Marcus Flint, the old Slytherin Quidditch captain.

“If you two will excuse me,” Emile stood up and left the table, her appetite gone.

**_What’s so bad about them?_ **

**They’re douchebags.**

**_Flint seemed nice._ **

**He’s a Slytherin.**

**_So was I._ **

**Yes, but I’m stuck with you.**

**_Wow, rude._ **

Emile went up to her room with the intention of packing the rest of her items. Dumbledore’s letter stated that she was to move to a new location for the remainder of the summer and to expect to spend the holidays there. Mr. and Mrs. Diggory didn’t seem to mind too much; Emile was going to be out of their hand’s a year early, and in the care of Albus Dumbledore.

She turned on her muggle radio, letting it play some of the latest muggle hits as she went around her room, gathering spare items. She had five boxes of varying sizes and her trunk. Her trunk was filled with her clothes. One large box was for books. Another smaller one was for her camera, photo albums, and spare film. There was a rather long box she had filled with her posters and wall hangings. The fifth box contained her jewelry and other accessories, and the sixth she was filling with knick knacks she found lying around.

A familiar song by the Weird Sisters was playing when Emile found a small glass orb in the bottom of her Mokeskin pouch. Fingers trembling, Emile lit her wand and placed it under the orb, watching as the cosmo’s filled the barren room and covered the walls with now familiar constellations. This was the christmas present she had received from Cedric during her third year.

**_Oh, this is really cool._ **

Emile couldn’t see, her eyes were being blocked out. It was as if she had fallen asleep.

**Get away, I can’t see where I am!**

**_Can’t you give me a few more seconds? It’s been a while since I looked at the real world._ **

**Get away!**

The choking darkness suddenly vanished.

**_You pushed me away, I didn’t know you could do that._ **

**It’s getting you to shut up that will be the trick.**

Once a majority of the guests had left, Emile went down to the parlor for tea before going to bed. Cornelius Fudge showed up at half past nine to offer his condolences, much to the delight of Mrs. Diggory. He apologized for the form of death and the rumors that have been going around about Lord Voldemort.

“It’s horrifying what Dumbledore’s suggesting, You-Know-Who returned, I’ll believe my mother’s risen from the dead before I believe that.”

“Pardon me, Minister, but I believe Harry Potter.”

The adults all turned and stared at Emile.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Emile stood up from the sofa and left the room, going out to the stables. After brushing Nepeta, she went down to Cygnus’ stall and stroked the black stallion.

“Are you even aware that he’s gone?” She whispered to the large horse, who let out a small nicker and tossed his head back.

“Any idea what they’re going to do with all these horses now?” Darren asked as he walked by with a bucket of water.

“I don’t know, I should write to the Weasley’s to see if it would be alright to bring Nepeta.” Emile followed Darren down the barn.

**_How are you going to get a horse there?_ **

**I don’t know, but they can’t live too far away. We took the same portkey to the Quidditch World Cup.**

“I hope they don’t get rid of the horses, I really need this job,” Emile heard Darren say quietly.

“Don’t worry Darren, I doubt Mr. Diggory would let you go. You’ve been with him since you graduated Hogwart’s five years ago.”

The stable boy smiled weakly at Emile before heading off to complete his chores, and she went off to bed.

Emile spent the next day packing her things. She had to go down to the muggle village nearby to pick up two more boxes for her blankets and pillows. Mrs. Diggory thought this was ridiculous, but Emile had sentimental attachment to her pillows.

The morning she was supposed to leave for the burrow, Emile was waiting in the entrance hall for Dumbledore at seven am sharp. She had pulled her short, auburn hair into two pigtails and put on shorts, a black tanktop and a her red plaid shirt.

“He ought to be arriving at any moment,” Mr. Diggory said, nervously glancing at his wristwatch.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door, and Albus Dumbledore strode into the house.

“Good morning, Amos. I’m very sorry I couldn’t come to the funeral yesterday, there’s been a lot to take care of.”

“No worries Dumbledore. I trust that you’ll take good care of Emile?”

**_What he means is, better then Cedric._ **

**I realized, Bartemius.**

**_I told you not to call me that_  ** **.**

“Don’t worry Amos, we have a safe place to put her,” Albus Dumbledore smiled warmly at Mr. Diggory before turning to Emile. “Are these all of your things?”

“Yep, this is it,” Emile said, taking out her wand. “Are we ready to go?”

“We are indeed, I will see you in the cart.” With a wave of his wand Dumbledore lifted the trunk, seven boxes, and Carrot’s cage and carried them out the door.

“Goodbye, Uncle Amos,” Emile gave her uncle a large hug.

“Goodbye, dear,” He said back, a single tear in his eye.

“Good luck, Emile,” Mrs. Diggory whispered into her ear as she also enveloped Emile in a hug.

With a final glance around the manor, Emile went out the door and down to the large wooden cart. Her items took up most of the back, so she sat on the seat next to Dumbledore.

“Nepeta!” She said with a grin as she noticed her horse harnessed to the front, alongside a large black horse with wings.

“Professor, what is that?” Emile asked as they started moving.

“Perhaps your little friend knows the answer, hmm?” He said with a curt smile.

**_It’s a thestral. You learned about them in Care of Magical Creature’s. This one is probably part of the herd that pulls the carriages at Hogwarts._ **

**The ones you can only see once you’ve seen death?**

**_That’s right. I’m going to have to dig around as you sleep, because I know you didn’t see your father or Cedric die._ **

**Or you could ask? It was my grandfather.**

**_I would much rather see it, it’s much more fascinating._ **

Emile rolled her eyes.

“Do you understand now?” Professor Dumbledore asked warily.

“Yes, thank you,” Emile watched the countryside pass by as the horse and thestral pulled the cart onward.

“How is he liking his new confinements?” Dumbledore asked after a long silence.

**_She complains a lot. But it’s much more preferable than Azkaban._ **

“He says that despite my complaining he likes it better than Azkaban.”

Dumbledore let out a small chuckle and didn’t say anything else until they had passed through the muggle village by the Burrow.

“Now Emile, when we get to the Weasley’s you will be leaving for a new location, so don’t unpack. Your horse will remain at the Burrow, but you will be given an escort once a week to come ride it. Arthur Weasley will be coming by the house daily and has agreed to care for– what did you say her name was?”

“Nepeta.”

Dumbledore gave a small nod.

“You won’t tell me where we’re going?” Emile prompted as they rode over the hillside and the Burrow came into sight.

“That information will be provided later,” was the only response she got.

A thought occurred to Emile. “What do I tell Fred and George?”

Dumbledore paused as the cart stopped by the wooden house. “As troublesome as the twins may be, it is up to you whom you tell about your burden. But do not tell too many people, only the ones you trust the most.”

Emile swallowed nervously before dismounting from the cart and pointing her wand to the back.

“Locomotor my things,” she said dully. Her trunk and boxes immediately began to float towards her, but so did Nepeta, who whinnied fearfully.

Dumbledore chuckled at pointed his wand at the horse, who returned to her spot, ears laid back in fright.

**_You’re going to have to be a bit more specific than that._ **

**Well, now I know.**

“Emile!”

She looked up to find Fred and Ginny running towards her from the house, where Mrs. Weasley was standing by the door.

“Dumbledore!” She called out and waved her hand.

“I don’t have much time, Molly,” Professor Dumbledore swept past her into the house, leaving Emile outside with her friends.

“How are you two? And where’s George?” Emile craned her neck to look over Fred’s shoulder.

“He’s packing up some final things,” Ginny said with a smirk.

“You wouldn’t know how to perform an undetectable extension charm, would you?” Fred said in a low voice.

“I do, why do you ask?”

“We need to take some stuff we’ve been working on without mom realizing,” Fred pulled her into the house and up the stairs, followed closely by Ginny.

“Emile!” George gave her a hug as she came into the room. “It’s been too long.”

**_It hasn’t even been a week._ **

**Jealous?**

**_Not particularly._ **

“Wow,” Emile looked around the room, surprised at how clean it looked. “You guys should move out more often.”

“Don’t be rude,” Fred nudged her in the side before taking a surprisingly small moving box that had been labeled in large black letters, “CLOTHES”.

“Why do you need me to do this?” Emile said as she pulled out her wand.

“Mom still doesn’t really like the idea of the joke shop,” George grumbled as he pulled several bags of candy and long pieces of flesh colored string out of his dress shoes.

“To make sure we don’t take anything with us she got us boxes that she says she’ll check before we leave,” Fred said as he pulled out several fake wands out of a small cup of quills and pens that Emile had given them.

“Makes sense,” Emile said, pointing her wand at the inside of the box. “Capacious Extremis.”

“Thank you,” Fred said, sticking his arm in the box and grinning in delight as it sunk all the way in. “Blimey, that’s deeper than I thought it would be.”

“You’re welcome,” Emile said, leaving the room to go fetch Nepeta.

Nepeta knickered at Emile as she unharnessed her and led her over to a small barn by the chicken coop. Inside there was a single, empty stall for Emile to put her. Once Nepeta was settled in and eating a helping of oats, Emile went out and got a large box of supplies she had brought along. Soon Nepeta’s saddle, blanket, and bridle were resting on a shelf next to the lead rope. On a smaller shelf underneath a variety of polish and soap sat neatly next to a organized box of brushes.

“Emile, is this your horse?” Ginny cooed as she walked into the barn.

“Yes, this is Nepeta,” Emile said as she removed the feed bag from around Nepeta’s neck.

“She’s gorgeous,” Ginny said enviously, stroking the horse’s soft nose.

“I’d be happy to let you ride her after lunch,” Emile said with a grin.

“I’d love that!” Ginny squealed.

At that moment Mrs. Weasley called out from inside the house that lunch was ready. Emile spent lunch listening to the various stories Fred and George had as a result of finally being able to use magic outside of school. Ginny said they had developed a new attitude that the law was now beneath them, that work was overrated. They apparated everywhere and refused to lift anything.

“I understand the lifting, but the excessive apparation? Is that really necessary?” Emile asked as she sipped on her iced coffee.

“Time is galleons,” Fred said with a grin.

As promised, Emile took Ginny out on a ride after lunch. Ginny sat perched on the saddle as Emile led Nepeta around the house and a small way down the dirt road before going back.

“Do you want to try it on your own?” Emie asked as the Burrow came into view.

“Alright,” Ginny said a bit nervously as Emile unhooked the lead rope from Nepeta’s bridle and handed the reins to Ginny.

Soon the redhead was in full control of the horse, grinning as they trotted around the house.

“Ginny, be careful!” Mrs. Weasley called from the kitchen window as she swept past.

“What’s all this?” Ron came out of the house with Hermione, nearly getting trampled by Nepeta as Ginny galloped by.

“Would you like a turn, too?” Emile laughed at his shocked expression.

“N-no thanks. I think I’m good,” Ron said nervously, watching his sister enjoying herself.

“Are you scared?” Ginny called out as she drew Nepeta to a halt next to Emile.

“You can’t possibly be scared of a horse, Ronald,” Hermione smirked next to him

“I am not!” He said hotly, his face turning red.

Ginny dismounted Nepeta and bowed to Ron. “After you, good sir.”

Grumbling, Ron climbed onto Nepeta’s saddle, warily watching the smirking girls out of the corner of his eye. They watched as he nervously edged the horse forward, looking terrified.

“I think I’m starting to get the hang of this!” He said happily, bringing Nepeta up to a gallop and promptly falling off the back of the horse.

Ginny was on the ground, laughing. Hermione was laughing so hard she had started to cry. Emile laughed for a moment too as Nepeta trotted over to her and headbutted her in the shoulder.

“You alright, Ron?” Hermione called out as Emile attached the lead rope back onto the horse.

“Never been better,” he gasped from the ground.

That evening they were eating a rather rushed dinner when Mr. Weasley came home from work.

“Emile, good to see you,” he grinned once he had kissed his wife hello.

“Likewise, Mr. Weasley,” she said with a smile.

“Hello everybody!” Percy had just apparated into the room, his face aglow. “Mom, you’re looking well. Ginny, Fred, George, Hermione hello. Ron, what happened to your face? Emile! Good to see you.”

“Either you got promoted or you’re getting married,” Fred mumbled around a mouthful of spaghetti.

“The latter!” Percy said with a grin, sitting down at the table.

“No, seriously. What happened?” Fred stared at his brother.

“I have been promoted. Percy Weasley, Junior Assistant to the Minister of Magic himself! I’m on a roll for someone one year out of school,” Percy took no notice of the stares and gaping mouths in his direction as he helped himself to a plate of spaghetti.

“Junior Assistant!” Hermione said, attempting the lighten the mood. “That’s really, wow.”

“Yes, that’s um, really good,”Ginny said with a nervous glance at her parent’s.

“Cornelius Fudge, the man who has been storming around the ministry in search of people in league with Dumbledore, promoted you, the son of someone he knows to be in league with Dumbledore, to be his personal assistant,” Mr. Weasley said slowly.

“What’s your point?” Percy frowned at his father, glaring at him over his horn rimmed glasses.

“He’s just using you to spy on the family,” Mr. Weasley snapped.

“He- I never- How could- You don’t know-” Percy spluttered as he stared at his father before taking a moment to calm himself.

“You know what,  _Father_? I reckon you’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Mr. Weasley’s face was red as a tomato.

“Boys, please,” Mrs. Weasley seemed on the verge of tears.

“I’ve been struggling with your lousy reputation ever since I got a job at the Ministry!” Percy was yelling now.

“Lousy reputation?”

“You have no ambition, that’s why our family’s always been dirt poor! You’re an idiot for running around with Dumbledore, that man’s headed for big trouble and you lot are going to go down with him! I know where my loyalties lie, and that’s with the Ministry! If you lot are going to become traitors to the ministry by joining this, this Order, I want it made clear that I have nothing to do with this family anymore!”

“So you don’t believe that You-Know-Who has returned? You actually believe that Diggory boy died of natural causes?”

Emile winced as Cedric was brought into the argument.

“It’s the minister’s word over Harry’s and you’ve got to admit it seems suspicious. He ought to get that scar of his checked by a professional,” Percy sniffed.

“He can’t help it!” Ron and Hermione yelled in unison, Ron standing up from his seat.

“Maybe if he wasn’t so attention seeking-”

“GET OUT!” Mr. Weasley roared over the yells from his children as Ginny, Fred, and George all began to lecture Percy.

“Arthur, please!” Mrs. Weasley was sobbing now.

**_Holy shit._ **

**I know, right?**

“GLADLY!” Percy bellowed, stomping up to his room. A few minutes later he came back downstairs, trunk and suitcase packed.

“Percy PLEASE! Arthur, do something!” Mrs. Weasley ran after her son. A moment later there was a loud crack, indicating that the Weasley boy had disapparated.

Mrs. Weasley came inside, crying harder still.

“Kid’s, go to your room’s,” Mr. Weasley muttered with a glare at the door as he pulled his wife in for a hug.

They obliged, but instead of heading to their separate rooms congregated in Fred and George’s room to discuss what had happened.

“That lousy, no good, slimy, foul, git,” Ginny was muttering under her breath.

“Feel free to let it out,” Fred said as he tossed a pillow to his sister.

“Sorry you had to see that, Emile,” George said as she sat down next to him on his bed, Ginny’s muted screams and swears coming from across the room.

“You to, Hermione,” Fred said after a moment.

“I always knew Percy was a git but I never imagined he’d say all that,” Ron said sulkily.

“And to dad’s face, too,” Fred muttered from the bed.

George let out a sigh and put his head in his hands.

They sat in silence for half an hour before Mrs. Weasley came upstairs, puffy eyed.

“Come on, Dumbledore will be here soon,” she said briskly.

Emile went down to Ginny’s room and levitated her trunk down the stairs to the living room. Soon the twins joined them with their trunks and several boxes, Ron and Hermione took a bit longer since they didn’t have anyone of-age helping them.

They sat in silence, unwilling to talk in case someone brought up what had just occurred, until a loud crack sounded and Dumbledore appeared before them.

“Excellent, you’re all here,” He said with a glance around the room. “No, you aren’t. Where is Percy?”

“Percy will not be joining us,” Mr. Weasley said sharply as Mrs. Weasley’s lips began to quiver.

“Aha,” was all Dumbledore said. “Alright then, let’s gather around the fireplace, my acquaintance should be meeting us soon.”

At that moment a large, shaggy, black dog stumbled out of the fire, which had turned an emerald green.

“Ah, Sirius!” Dumbledore said at the same moment Emile recognized the dog. It quickly transformed into a tall man with shaggy, black hair.

“Hello all, good to see you again, Molly.”

Mrs. Weasley managed a nod of greeting.

“It works then?” Dumbledore asked with a look at the fireplace.

“It seems that it does.” Sirius looked out the window, as if he was expecting a letter.

“Good, that means they aren’t watching the Floo Network too closely yet,” Dumbledore said quietly as if he was talking to himself.

“Here!” He whipped out a piece of paper from his robe pocket. “Everyone read this and memorize it.”  
The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix may be found at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, London.

“What’s the Order-” Fred was shushed by the four adult’s around him, who were glaring as if he was saying blasphemy.

“We’ll tell you when we get there,” Mr. Weasley whispered fervently.

“Alright then. Molly, take the Floo Network with Sirius, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. The rest of us will Apparate with the supplies,” Dumbledore said as he ushered the four people he had called towards the fireplace.

“Nonsense, we can each carry a few boxes ourselves,” Mrs. Weasley scoffed as she handed the twins box of “clothes” to Ron and Emile’s box of knick knacks to Ginny, taking a large box of kitchen supplies for herself and directing Sirius to take Mr. Weasley’s trunk.

Emile, Fred, and George picked up their trunks while Mr. Weasley and Dumbledore grabbed a few boxes. One at a time, they focused on the destination Dumbledore had given them and turned on the spot, apparating in front of a beaten old door.  The silver door knocker was in the form of a twisted serpent. There was no keyhole or letterbox.

Dumbledore pulled out his wand and tapped the door once. They heard many loud, metallic clicks and what sounded like the clatter of a chain. The door creaked open.

“Lumos Maxima,” Dumbledore said as he cast the light into the house, showing a row of old fashioned gas lamps lining a dark, dusty hallway.

“Welcome to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.”

“Is no one going to tell us what that is?” Fred said in an exasperated voice.

 


	40. Make This Haunted House Home

The next few days were some of the busiest and most uncomfortable of the summer. Since the most habitable room at the time was the dining room, the large table had been pushed up against a wall so that everyone could sleep somewhat comfortably. Emile Hermione, and Ginny slept on top of the table, while Ron, Fred, and George slept underneath. Mr. And Mrs. Weasley had their sleeping bags against the far wall, and Sirius slept opposite of them in his own little bubble of space.

The first problem they had to take care of was the portrait of Sirius’s mother. Every time one of the crept past she would start screaming bloody murder. It was Hermione’s idea to hang some old curtains over her portrait so that she couldn’t see them, and it thankfully worked really well.

The morning after their arrival, Mrs. Weasley had tied rags around their faces and given them large bottles of Doxycide to deal with an infestation of Doxy’s in the kitchen cabinets. Once they had been dealt with and the cabinets full of broken china were emptied, Mrs. Weasley got to organizing the kitchen. The rest of them were sent into the main hallway, where Ron helped Sirius fix the old gas lamps and Ginny dusted off the pictures and washed the windows. Emile, Fred, and George spent most of the afternoon siphoning dust off of the tattered carpet with their wands.

The next day they tackled the upstairs hallway and one of the empty bedrooms, in which a boggart had taken residence under the bed. By the end of the day the bedroom was deemed habitable, and Mrs. Weasley and her husband moved in. By the end of the week they had cleared enough rooms for everyone to stake their claims. Ginny and Hermione were on the second landing with Ron, and Emile was on the third landing with the twins. Sirius had taken a day off helping them to clear out his old bedroom, while they cleaned out what had have been his mother’s. Once it was cleared, a Hippogriff named Buckbeak claimed that bedroom as his own.

As soon as they had all moved out of the dining room, regular meetings were held there by the Order. Emile, surprisingly enough, was invited to participate. It wasn’t because of her, but because the Order believed Barty had some useful information on You-Know-Who.

Fred and George were desperate for information, so Emile told them as little as she could. The Order had quite a few members, maybe even forty. The ones she had met were Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, Mad Eye Moody, Elphias Dodge, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Emmeline Vance, Hestia Jones, Mundungus Fletcher, Sturgis Podmore, and (Emile’s favorite) Nymphadora Tonks. Along with Dumbledore, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Professor Snape, these people seemed to make up the most regular attendees of the Order of the Phoenix meeting’s.

“Come on, you know more then that,” Fred argued as the group of them sat in the twins room after a late night meeting.

“They’re guarding something! When I’m around they try to be as vague as possible!” Emile said indignantly as Fred threw her a reproachful look.

“What are they guarding?” George said after a moment.

“My best guess is Harry,” Emile responded. “They never say what it is specifically, just discuss shifts.”

“It’s like being left out of an inside joke,” Fred said with a sigh.

**_That was a really good comparison._ **

**See? My friend’s aren’t idiot’s.**

**_Their goal in life is to open a joke shop._ **

**Your goal in life was to please a mad man.**

“Emile, you’re doing it again,” George interrupted with a frown.

“Sorry!” Emile shook her head and looked up. “Did you say something?”

“What’s Snape doing there?”

Emile was thrown back to less than an hour ago, when she had had her first Occlumency lesson.

“Control your emotions. Discipline your mind. And most importantly, do not let me in,” Snape had said slowly before pointing his wand at her.

At that moment Emile experienced a rush of emotion. She had recalled many moving memories, receiving Carrot, the day on the train with Oliver, her father’s funeral-

“Stop!” She had thought, attempting to fight back, but the thoughts just kept coming.

As the image of Cedric’s headstone came into her mind she took a deep breath and slowly began to push it away.

‘Stop.’ The word echoed through her mind. Surprisingly enough, she had begun to see other memories, unfamiliar memories. A woman, lying sickly in bed, twelve O.W.L.OWL’s, Mr. Crouch staring in disapproval as the happiness was slowly sucked out of the world-

“What did you do to me?” Emile gasped as Snape fell backwards onto a chair.

“I didn’t do anything,” Snape had looked at her warily. “You did that. You blocked me out, and in doing so infiltrated Barty’s mind.”

**I did that?**

The thought had gone unanswered in her head.

“Emile!” Fred snapped, bringing her back to the present.

She let out a heaving sigh. “I’m going to tell you guys something, but you have to promise you will not tell anyone else.”

**_No, don’t do it._ **

“I hate it when they get serious,” Fred muttered, and received glares from both Emile and George.

“You can tell us anything,” George said after a moment.

Emile sighed again. “Alright. So, you know how my scar was hurting a lot last year?”

The twins nodded.

“It’s because I was near the person who gave it to me. The man impersonating Professor Moody, Bartemius Crouch Jr., is the one who did it.”

**_Oh my god._ **

“What do you mean, is? His soul was sucked out by a dementor,” Fred frowned.

“Most of it.”

“Most of it?” George frowned at her. “Where’s the rest of it?”

Emile’s lips quivered. “Inside of me.”

“How can it be inside of you?” Fred was staring at her like she was a completely different person.

“I’m a horcrux,” Emile said quietly, her eyes tearing up. “He attached part of his soul onto me, so he’s still alive. I can hear him, in my head. Snape’s been teaching me how to control him; that’s why I’m at the meeting’s. Since he was a death eater, they think they can get some information out of him.”

The twins stared at her for a long time. Emile wiped her eyes self consciously.

**_Emile it’s bad enough a gang of old people knows, but now your friends?/_ **

**Maybe you shouldn’t have done it, then we wouldn’t be here right now.**

**_You were the perfect vessel. After all, I helped torture your mother into insanity. I couldn’t not take this opportunity._ **

**You did what?**

“Em?” George said after a moment.

“What?” Emile sniffled.

“This doesn’t change how we feel about you.”

“It’s nice you finally trust us enough to tell us this,” Fred grinned.

Emile wrapped her arms around the two of them, who gave her awkward pats on the shoulder.

“I’d better get to bed,” She said, disapparating to the next door bedroom.

She put her glasses onto the nightstand before climbing into the four poster bed. She’d been having a lot of difficulty falling asleep recently, and staying asleep for that matter. She kept waking up from nightmares, some reoccurring ones. The most popular one seemed to be the night her grandfather died.

It was a little after midnight when Bartemius spoke.

**_You awake?_ **

**Yeah.**

**_I’m sorry if I made your life miserable._ **

**You were just upset that you couldn’t please your father. It’s not your fault, you know.**

**_How do you know that?_ **

**Your father cared more about his job then his family. You should have focused more on doing things for you instead of doing things for him.**

**_I did do this for me, I’ve made an excellent name for myself._ **

**Have you? Really?**

In the silence that followed Emile took out the glass ball from Cedric out of the nightstand drawer. Igniting her wand, she carefully placed the ball on top and sat, staring at the stars that covered her ceiling.

**_Are you looking at the stars again?_ **

**Yes.**

**_Can I see?_ **

**Alright, just let me close my eyes. Okay, go ahead.**

**_Wow…_ **

Emile lay there, relishing the silence. She could sense something new coming off of the dark part in her. It could have been happiness, It could have been peace. As she fell into a deep sleep, she at least knew that for once he wasn’t angry.

The next morning Emile was woke by her bedroom door opening so ferociously that it slammed into the wall.

“You didn’t tell us Bill was back!” Fred cried indignantly.

“I didn’t?” Emile said with a yawn and glance at the clock. It was only eight am.

“Well I definitely meant to.”

She was dragged out of bed in her pajamas for breakfast.

“You know, you almost look like a Weasley now with that hair,” Bill said with a wink at Emile as she buttered her toast.

“Mind you, she already practically is,” George mumbled around his mouthful of eggs.

“You’re right George, we have to make it official,” Fred said with a look around the table. “Ron, you’re engaged to Emile now.”

“What?” Emile, Ron, Hermione and Ginny all said at the same time as Bill laughed and George choked on his eggs.

“So what are you doing now that you’re back in England?” Ginny asked her older brother.

“I’ve applied for a desk job in Gringotts,” Bill said with a shrug. “I miss the tombs but it’s nice to be back.”

“You’ll never guess who also got a job at Gringotts,” Mrs. Weasley chirped with a glint in her eyes. “You remember the Beauxbaton champion?”

“Fleur?” Ron turned red as he said her name.

“Yes, Fleur. She’s there to improve her English,” Bill said with a look at his mother.

“She’s after a bit more if you ask me,” Emile heard Mrs. Weasley mutter as she carried the empty plate of toast to the kitchen to refill.

As the weeks went by, more and more of the house was cleaned. Sometimes members of the Order would stay and help them. One memorable day was when Tonks helped them get rid of a ghastly nest of spiders the size of her face. Ron had fainted at the sight of them, and had to be carried out by Mrs. Weasley.

Tonks wasn’t like the other members of the order. She was younger and much more fun, and she was a metamorphmagus. Whenever she stayed for dinner she would entertain Ginny and Hermione by transforming her face in between bites. She also dressed more normally than the other wizards. Since her father was a muggle she knew how muggles dressed and seemed to follow their fashion trends.

“What happened, Molly?” Sirius asked one day at dinner as an Owl flew into the kitchen.

“Harry’s been attacked by dementors!” She gasped, leaning against the counter.

A loud cry echoed around the room as everyone rushed forward, trying to get a hold of the note she was holding.

“It say’s here, Harry was attacked by dementors but fought them off. He was expelled from school but Dumbledore just arrived to sort things out.”

Sirius stared at Mrs. Weasley. “I ought to go write a quick note to Harry,” he muttered and swept out of the room.

“You’ve got to summon the Order,” Emile turned to Mrs. Weasley. “It was stupid to leave him out of it so long, it was only a matter of time before he got himself into trouble.”

“You’re right, Emile. I agree that we shouldn’t have left him alone for so long, but he’s too young to be in on all this Order business.”

“What about us? We’re of age, why can’t we-” Fred was interrupted by his mother.

“Because you are still in school, only those who have graduated and taken their N.E.W.T.NEWT’s can join the Order on its tasks!” Mrs. Weasley’s face was growing red.

“But Emile-” George began to argue but broke off, his face growing pale as he glanced over at Emile nervously.

“You know why Emile is the exception, George. It’s on Dumbledore’s orders that she hears what she hears, and thank Merlin his orders were that she hears as little as possible,” Mrs. Weasley snapped and stormed off into the kitchen.

**_Did he look a bit scared to you?_ **

**Please don’t say that. I’ll get paranoid.**

Emile went to her room without a word and finished unpacking her things. Her posters and pictures were hanging on the wall, as were the glass orbs she had hung in her dormitory last year. Her book’s graced the shelves and dress robes poked out of the closet. The various pillows and blankets scattered across the bed and floor gave the room a splash of color that hadn’t been there when she had moved in.

**_How does it look now?_ **

**Pretty good.**

**_Can I see?_ **

**Sure.**

Emile closed her eyes as Barty took over, standing still for a moment as she opened them back up and gave him control.

**_It’s so, girly._ **

**Well what did you expect?**

**_I don’t know, but I kind of miss the blackness._ **

**You would.**

**_What is that supposed to mean?_ **

**You worshiped a DARK lord.**

**_Oh, hah. Real funny._ **

The next day, Emile joined a particularly large meeting of the Order.

“Good evening, Professor Moody,” she said as Mad Eye sat down next to her.

**_He never really got around to much teaching._ **

“What did he say?” Mad Eye growled.

“He said you never really got around to much teaching,” Emile said with a small smile.

“Well he isn’t wrong,” Mad Eye laughed before turning to talk to Sirius.

Emile sat at the head of the table as she waited for the meeting to begin.

“Where’s Snape?” She asked Remus as he and Tonks sat down next to her.

“He’s busy,” Remus said a bit too quickly.

“I have no idea,” Tonks said at the same time.

The two shared a glance before hastily changing the subject to some current ministry event. Emile tuned out what they were saying and helped herself to a muffin from the platters of foods Mrs. Weasley had put out.

As she took a bite of her muffin, Dumbledore strode into the room.

“Good evening everyone,” He said with a look around the table.

A chorus of “good evening”s responded to the old headmaster’s greeting as he sat down at the head of the table.

“Now, the first order of business is to get Harry here by the end of the week. Alastor, can I count on you to be in charge of this operation?”

“Sure can,” Moody grunted from next to Emile, who took another bite of her muffin.

“Excellent, excellent. Anyone interested in helping should report to Alastor after the meeting. Second, How is guard duty going?”

Dumbledore looked across the room to where Emile was sitting.

“Ah, Emile. I don’t think there will be much for you to do today, Severus won’t be joining us this evening.”

**_That’s kind of rude, why invite you here in the first place?_ **

**I’m sure the others didn’t know. It’s not their fault.**

Emile nodded and grabbed another muffin before leaving the room, tripping over a flesh colored string dangling from above the door.

“What the-”

“SSHHH!” An angry whisper came from above.

Emile looked up to see George, Fred, and Ginny crowded around one end of the flesh colored string.

“I take it the extendable ears are working?” Emile whispered as she joined them on the second landing.

“Like a charm,” Fred said, looking up at Emile with a grin for a split second.

A split second was all it took.

“What in the- BOYS!” Mr. Weasleys shouts came from below as she ran into the flesh colored string.

“Oh no,” Ginny whispered, backing towards her room.

“Quick, give it to me,” Emile said as Mrs. Weasley began storming up the stairs, yelling at the top of her lungs.

“IF YOU TWO THINK THIS IS ANOTHER PRANK FOR YOUR JOKE SHOP THEN I”VE GOT SOMETHING TO SAY TO YOU.”

Fred shoved the string into Emile’s hands and the three of them quickly disapparated, Emile to her room and the twins to theirs. Not two seconds had passed when George apparated next to her bed with the box marked ‘CLOTHES’.

“Hide these!” He whispered urgently before disapparating again.

Emiel shoved the box into her wardrobe, carefully placing shoes around it to conceal it, and grabbed a book off of her shelf, jumping onto her bed and flipping open to the middle just as Mrs. Weasley’s muted yells came from next door.

**_How much trouble do you think they’re in?_ **

**If she doesn’t find any evidence then they can’t be in trouble.**

**_But that’s boring._ **

After a few minutes, she came into Emile’s room.

“Hello dear, what do you have there?”

“It’s a really good book, it’s um,” Emile quickly scanned the cover, “Nature’s Nobility: a Wizard’s Genealogy…”

“Ah, well I just wanted to make sure you were alright,” Mrs. Weasley said, but Emile didn’t miss her eyes fervently scanning the room.

“I’m fine, I didn’t expect them to let me stay long,” Emile shrugged. “Oh, and Mrs. Weasley?”

“Yes, dear?” She said hopefully, as if Emile were about to hand over the twins stash of pranks.

“Excellent muffins.”

 


	41. Occlumency

A few days later there was another major meeting. Emile was called down, but not to participate. She waited in the room next door for Snape to finish giving his report before he would supposedly come over and continue with their Occlumency lessons. After around forty five minutes, he finally came into the room and sat down across from her.

**_Took him long enough._ **

**Of course it did, doing this with me is hardly the highlight of his day.**

“Whenever you’re ready, Miss Gorska,” he sniffed across from her.

Emile shrugged. “I’m ready when you are, Professor.”

She immediately felt something invade her mind. Taking a deep breath, she focused on her emotions, and remained calm. Immediately, Barty’s memories came flooding in.

‘I don’t want to see this’ she repeated to herself over and over again, until, finally, she managed to block Snape from entering both her and Barty’s minds.

**_Why would you protect me?_ **

**I’ve grown to like you.**

“Well done, Emile.”

Emile jerked her head up and stared at the Professor. “You used my first name.”

Snape looked surprised for a moment. “Did I?”

Emile gave a small nod as she watched the Professor closely.

He gave a dry smile. “Must have slipped out.”

“If you’re going to be invading my brain for a while I want to know more about you, Professor,” Emile said, narrowing her eyes at Snape.

“Do you get this comfortable with all of your teachers, Miss Gorska?” Professor Snape asked in a slightly irritated tone.

“Only my favorites,” Emile said, tilting her head and smiling up at the Professor.

“Alright, enough of this,” He said with a small smile.

“Dinner’s ready!” Mrs. Weasley came into the room looking slightly flustered. “The others are just leaving, Severus.”

“Thank you, Molly.” Professor Snape stood up and left the room, pausing in the doorway to look at Emile.

“Keep practicing,” he said curtly before leaving her alone with Mrs. Weasley.

“Considering that mans history I have no idea how Dumbledore could trust him,” Mrs. Weasley said with an exasperated sigh. “Come along Emile, dear.”

“I need to feed Carrot, I’ll join you in a few minutes,” Emile said quickly, darting up the steps to her room.

Once inside, she put on longer pants and fed her pet rat. Carrot was snoozing underneath the hamster wheel, but quickly sat up when she heard her food being poured into her bowl. Emile smiled and pet her rat before heading out onto the second landing.

“Fred — George — NO, JUST CARRY THEM!” Emile heard Mrs. Weasley shriek from down below. She ran into the kitchen to find a large black burn on the kitchen table, and butterbeer everywhere. At one end Sirius and Harry were laughing at a knife that was embedded in the table’s surface.

“FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!” screamed Mrs. Weasley. “THERE WAS NO NEED — I’VE HAD ENOUGH OF THIS — JUST BECAUSE YOU’RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW YOU DON’T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!”

“We were just trying to save a bit of time!” said Fred, hurrying forward and wrenching the bread knife out of the table. “Sorry Sirius, mate — didn’t mean to —”

Mundungus swore as he got to his feet from where he had fallen off of his chair next to Harry.

“Boys,” Mr. Weasley said, lifting the stew back into the middle of the table, “your mother’s right, you’re supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you’ve come of age —”

“— none of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!” Mrs. Weasley raged at the twins, slamming a fresh flagon of butterbeer onto the table and spilling almost as much again. “Bill didn’t feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn’t Charm everything he met! Percy —”

She stopped dead, catching her breath with a frightened look at her husband, whose expression was suddenly wooden.

“Let’s eat,” said Bill quickly.

“It looks wonderful, Molly,” said Lupin, ladling stew onto a plate for her and handing it across the table.

For a few minutes, there was silence but for the chink of plates and cutlery and the scraping of chairs as everyone settled down to their food. Then Mrs. Weasley turned to Sirius and said, “I’ve been meaning to tell you, there’s something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing room, it keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just� be a boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out.”

“Whatever you like,” said Sirius indifferently.

“The curtains in there are full of doxies too,” Mrs. Weasley went on. “I thought we might try and tackle them tomorrow.”

“I look forward to it,” said Sirius in a sarcastic tone.

Emile and George shared a glance across the table. It was no secret that Sirius didn’t enjoy cleaning with them. He hadn’t been outside the house in a month, and Emile didn’t even know how long he’d been since he’d been outside at all.

Tonks had begun to perform her usual dinnertime routine, transforming her nose into one much like Severus Snape.

“Do that one like a pig snout, Tonks,” Ginny said with a grin.

Tonk’s obliged, and Harry stared at her with a shocked look on his face, causing Emile to laugh as well.

Giggles next to her drew Emile’s attention back to Mundungus, who was telling another story about one of his heists. Emile laughed along with Ron, Fred, and George as he elaborated on the tale.

“. . . and then,” choked Mundungus, tears running down his face, “and then, if you’ll believe it, ’e says to me, ’e says, ‘ ’ere, Dung, where didja get all them toads from? ’Cos some son of a Bludger’s gone and nicked all mine!’ And I says, ‘Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you’ll be wanting some more, then?’ And if you’ll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all ’is own toads back orf me for twice what ’e paid in the first place —”

“I don’t think we need to hear any more of your business dealings, thank you very much, Mundungus,” said Mrs. Weasley sharply, as Ron slumped forward onto the table, howling with laughter.

“Beg pardon, Molly,” said Mundungus at once, wiping his eyes. “But, you know, Will nicked ’em orf Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn’t really doing nothing wrong —”

“I don’t know where you learned about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seem to have missed a few crucial lessons,” said Mrs. Weasley coldly.

Fred and George buried their faces in their goblets of butterbeer; George was hiccuping. Emile gave him a pat on the back and he stopped.

A large helping of rhubarb crumble later, Emile was playing spoons with Fred and George at one end of the table. Ginny was sitting on the floor, rolling butterbeer corks around for Crookshanks to chase.

“Nearly time for bed, I think,” said Mrs. Weasley on a yawn.

“Not just yet, Molly,” said Sirius, pushing away his empty plate and turning to look at Harry. “You know, I’m surprised at you. I thought the first thing you’d do when you got here would be to start asking questions about Voldemort.”

“I did!” said Harry indignantly. “I asked Ron and Hermione but they said we’re not allowed in the Order, so —”

“And they’re quite right,” said Mrs. Weasley. “You’re too young.”

She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, her fists clenched upon its arms, every trace of drowsiness gone.

“Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?” asked Sirius. “Harry’s been trapped in that Muggle house for a month. He’s got the right to know what’s been happen —”

“Hang on!” interrupted George loudly.

“How come Harry gets his questions answered?” said Fred angrily.

“We’ve been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven’t told us a single stinking thing!” said George. “

‘You’re too young, you’re not in the Order,’ ” said Fred, in a high pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother’s.  “Harry’s not even of age!”

“It’s not my fault you haven’t been told what the Order’s doing,” said Sirius calmly. “That’s your parents’ decision. Harry, on the other hand —”

“It’s not down to you to decide what’s good for Harry!” said Mrs. Weasley sharply. Her normally kindly face looked dangerous. “You haven’t forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?”

“Which bit?” Sirius asked politely, but with an air as though readying himself for a fight. “The bit about not telling Harry more than he needs to know,” said Mrs. Weasley, placing a heavy emphasis on the last three words.

Ron, Hermione, Emile, Fred, and George’s heads turned from Sirius to Mrs. Weasley as though following a tennis rally. Ginny was kneeling amid a pile of abandoned butterbeer corks, watching the conversation with her mouth slightly open. Lupin’s eyes were fixed on Sirius.

“I don’t intend to tell him more than he needs to know, Molly,” said Sirius. “But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back he has more right than most to —”

“He’s not a member of the Order of the Phoenix!” said Mrs. Weasley. “He’s only fifteen and —”

“— and he’s dealt with as much as most in the Order,” said Sirius, “and more than some —”

“No one’s denying what he’s done!” said Mrs. Weasley, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. “But he’s still —”

“He’s not a child!” said Sirius impatiently.

“He’s not an adult either!” said Mrs. Weasley, the color rising in her cheeks. “He’s not James, Sirius!”

“I’m perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly,” said Sirius coldly.

“I’m not sure you are!” said Mrs. Weasley. “Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it’s as though you think you’ve got your best friend back!”

“What’s wrong with that?” said Harry.

“What’s wrong, Harry, is that you are not your father, however much you might look like him!” said Mrs. Weasley, her eyes still boring into Sirius. “You are still at school and adults responsible for you should not forget it!”

“Meaning I’m an irresponsible godfather?” demanded Sirius, his voice rising.

“Meaning you’ve been known to act rashly, Sirius, which is why Dumbledore keeps reminding you to stay at home and —”

“We’ll leave my instructions from Dumbledore out of this, if you please!” said Sirius loudly.

“Arthur!” said Mrs. Weasley, rounding on her husband. “Arthur, back me up!”

Mr. Weasley did not speak at once. He took off his glasses and cleaned them slowly on his robes, not looking at his wife. Only when he had replaced them carefully on his nose did he say, “Dumbledore knows the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in to a certain extent now that he is staying at headquarters —”

“Yes, but there’s a difference between that and inviting him to ask whatever he likes!”

“Personally,” said Lupin quietly, looking away from Sirius at last, as Mrs. Weasley turned quickly to him, hopeful that finally she was about to get an ally, “I think it better that Harry gets the facts — not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture — from us, rather than a garbled version from . . . others.”�

His expression was mild, but Emile felt sure that Lupin, at least, knew that some Extendable Ears had survived Mrs. Weasley’s purge.

“Well,” said Mrs. Weasley, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, “well . . . I can see I’m going to be overruled. I’ll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has got Harry’s best interests at heart —”

“He’s not your son,” said Sirius quietly.

“He’s as good as,” said Mrs. Weasley fiercely.

“Who else has he got?”

“He’s got me!”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Weasley, her lip curling. “The thing is, it’s been rather difficult for you to look after him while you’ve been locked up in Azkaban, hasn’t it?”

Sirius started to rise from his chair.

“Molly, you’re not the only person at this table who cares about Harry,” said Lupin sharply. “Sirius, sit down.”

Mrs. Weasley’s lower lip was trembling. Sirius sank slowly back into his chair, his face white.

“I think Harry ought to be allowed a say in this,” Lupin continued. “He’s old enough to decide for himself.”

“I want to know what’s been going on,” Harry said at once.

“Very well,” said Mrs. Weasley, her voice cracking. “Ginny — Ron — Hermione — Fred — George — Emile- I want you out of this kitchen, now.”

There was instant uproar.

“We’re of age!” Fred and George bellowed together.

“I’ve already been to several meeting’s!” Emile yelled indignantly.

“If Harry’s allowed, why can’t I?” shouted Ron.

“Mum, I want to!” wailed Ginny. �

“NO!” shouted Mrs. Weasley, standing up, her eyes overbright. “I absolutely forbid —”

“Molly, you can’t stop Fred and George,” said Mr. Weasley wearily. “Or Emile,” he added as an afterthought. “They are of age —”

“They’re still at school —”

“But they’re legally adults now,” said Mr. Weasley in the same tired voice.

Mrs. Weasley was now scarlet in the face. “I — oh, all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron —”

“Harry’ll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!” said Ron hotly.

“Won’t — won’t you?” he added uncertainly, meeting Harry’s eyes.

“ ’Course I will,” Harry said. Ron and Hermione beamed at him.

“Was he mad that he’s been out of the loop?” Emile whispered to George.

“You could hear him throughout the whole house,” George whispered back.

**_I’d be mad too_ **

**Oh, what? You had friends?**

**_Oh haha. You’re hilarious._ **

“Fine!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “Fine! Ginny — BED!”

Ginny did not go quietly. They could hear her raging and storming at her mother all the way up the stairs, and when she reached the hall Mrs. Black’s earsplitting shrieks were added to the din. Lupin hurried off to the portrait to restore calm. It was only after he had returned, closing the kitchen door behind him and taking his seat at the table again, that Sirius spoke.

“Okay, Harry . . . what do you want to know?”

Harry took a deep breath.

“Where’s Voldemort? What’s he doing? I’ve been trying to watch the Muggle news,” he said, “and there hasn’t been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything —”

“That’s because there haven’t been any suspicious deaths yet,” said Sirius, “not as far as we know, anyway. . . . And we know quite a lot.” “

More than he thinks we do anyway,” said Lupin.

“How come he’s stopped killing people?” Harry asked.

“Because he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself at the moment,” said Sirius. “It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn’t come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up.”

“Or rather, you messed it up for him,” said Lupin with a satisfied smile.

“How?” Harry asked perplexedly.

“You weren’t supposed to survive!” said Sirius. “Nobody apart from his Death Eaters was supposed to know he’d come back. But you survived to bear witness.”

“And the very last person he wanted alerted to his return the moment he got back was Dumbledore,” said Lupin. “And you made sure Dumbledore knew at once.”

“How has that helped?” Harry asked.

“Are you kidding?” said Bill incredulously. “Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of!”

“Thanks to you, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix about an hour after Voldemort returned,” said Sirius.

“So what’s the Order been doing?” said Harry, looking around at them all.

“Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can’t carry out his plans,” said Sirius.

“How d’you know what his plans are?” Harry asked quickly.

“Dumbledore’s got a shrewd idea,” said Lupin, “and Dumbledore’s shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate.”

“So what does Dumbledore reckon he’s planning?”

“Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again,” said Sirius. “In the old days he had huge numbers at his command; witches and wizards he’d bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of Dark creatures. You heard him planning to recruit the giants; well, they’ll be just one group he’s after. He’s certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a dozen Death Eaters.”

“So you’re trying to stop him getting more followers?”

“We’re doing our best,” said Lupin.

“How?”

“Well, the main thing is to try and convince as many people as possible that You-Know-Who really has returned, to put them on their guard,” said Bill. “It’s proving tricky, though.”

“Why?”

“Because of the Ministry’s attitude,” said Tonks. “You saw Cornelius Fudge after You-Know-Who came back, Harry. Well, he hasn’t shifted his position at all. He’s absolutely refusing to believe it’s happened.”

“But why?” said Harry desperately. “Why’s he being so stupid? If Dumbledore —”

“Ah, well, you’ve put your finger on the problem,” said Mr. Weasley with a wry smile. “Dumbledore.”

“Fudge is frightened of him, you see,” said Tonks sadly.

“Frightened of Dumbledore?” said Harry incredulously.

“Frightened of what he’s up to,” said Mr. Weasley. “You see, Fudge thinks Dumbledore’s plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister of Magic.”

“But Dumbledore doesn’t want —”

“Of course he doesn’t,” said Mr. Weasley. “He’s never wanted the Minister’s job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he’s never quite forgotten how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though Dumbledore never applied for the job.”

“Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore’s much cleverer than he is, a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice,” said Lupin. “But it seems that he’s become fond of power now, and much more confident. He loves being Minister of Magic, and he’s managed to convince himself that he’s the clever one and Dumbledore’s simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it.”

“How can he think that?” said Harry angrily. “How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up — that I’d make it all up?”

“Because accepting that Voldemort’s back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn’t had to cope with for nearly fourteen years,” said Sirius bitterly. “Fudge just can’t bring himself to face it. It’s so much more comfortable to convince himself Dumbledore’s lying to destabilize him.”

“You see the problem,” said Lupin. “While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort, it’s hard to convince people he’s back, especially as they really don’t want to believe it in the first place. What’s more, the Ministry’s leaning heavily on the Daily Prophet not to report any of what they’re calling Dumbledore’s rumormongering, so most of the Wizarding community are completely unaware anything’s happened, and that makes them easy targets for the Death Eaters if they’re using the Imperius Curse.”

“But you’re telling people, aren’t you?” said Harry, looking around at Mr. Weasley, Sirius, Bill, Mundungus, Lupin, and Tonks. “You’re letting people know he’s back?”

They all smiled humorlessly.

“Well, as everyone thinks I’m a mad mass murderer and the Ministry’s put a ten-thousand-Galleon price on my head, I can hardly stroll up the street and start handing out leaflets, can I?” said Sirius restlessly.

“And I’m not a very popular dinner guest with most of the community,” said Lupin. “It’s an occupational hazard of being a werewolf.”

“Tonks and Arthur would lose their jobs at the Ministry if they started shooting their mouths off,” said Sirius, “and it’s very important for us to have spies inside the Ministry, because you can bet Voldemort will have them.”

“We’ve managed to convince a couple of people, though,” said Mr. Weasley. “Tonks here, for one — she’s too young to have been in the Order of the Phoenix last time, and having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage — Kingsley Shacklebolt’s been a real asset too. He’s in charge of the hunt for Sirius, so he’s been feeding the Ministry information that Sirius is in Tibet.”

“But if none of you’s putting the news out that Voldemort’s back —” Harry began.

“Who said none of us  was putting the news out?” said Sirius. “Why d’you think Dumbledore’s in such trouble?”

“What d’you mean?” Harry asked.

“They’re trying to discredit him,” said Lupin. “Didn’t you see the Daily Prophet last week? They reported that he’d been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he’s getting old and losing his grip, but it’s not true, he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort’s return. They’ve demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wizengamot — that’s the Wizard High Court — and they’re talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class, too.”

“But Dumbledore says he doesn’t care what they do as long as they don’t take him off the Chocolate Frog cards,” said Bill, grinning.

“It’s no laughing matter,” said Mr. Weasley shortly. “If he carries on defying the Ministry like this, he could end up in Azkaban and the last thing we want is Dumbledore locked up. While You-Know-Who knows Dumbledore’s out there and wise to what he’s up to, he’s going to go cautiously for a while. If Dumbledore’s out of the way — well, You-Know-Who will have a clear field.”

“But if Voldemort’s trying to recruit more Death Eaters, it’s bound to get out that he’s come back, isn’t it?” asked Harry desperately.

“Voldemort doesn’t march up to people’s houses and bang on their front doors, Harry,” said Sirius. “He tricks, jinxes, and blackmails them. He’s well-practiced at operating in secrecy. In any case, gathering followers is only one thing he’s interested in, he’s got other plans too, plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed, and he’s concentrating on them at the moment.”

“What’s he after apart from followers?” Harry asked swiftly.

Emile  thought she saw Sirius and Lupin exchange the most fleeting of looks before Sirius said, “Stuff he can only get by stealth.”

When Harry continued to look puzzled, Sirius said, “Like a weapon. Something he didn’t have last time.”

“When he was powerful before?”

“Yes.” “Like what kind of weapon?” said Harry. “Something worse than the Avada Kedavra — ?”

“That’s enough.” Mrs. Weasley spoke from the shadows beside the door. Harry had not noticed her return from taking Ginny upstairs. Her arms were crossed and she looked furious.

“I want you in bed, now. All of you,” she added, looking around at Fred, George, Ron, and Hermione.

“You can’t boss us —” Fred began.

“Watch me,” snarled Mrs. Weasley. She was trembling slightly as she looked at Sirius. “You’ve given Harry plenty of information. Any more and you might just as well induct him into the Order straightaway.”

“Why not?” said Harry quickly. “I’ll join, I want to join, I want to fight —”

“No.” It was not Mrs. Weasley who spoke this time, but Lupin.� “The Order is comprised only of overage wizards,” he said. “Wizards who have left school,” he added, as Fred and George opened their mouths.

“There are dangers involved of which you can have no idea, any of you . . . I think Molly’s right, Sirius. We’ve said enough.”

Sirius half-shrugged but did not argue. Mrs. Weasley beckoned imperiously to her sons, Emile, and Hermione. One by one they stood up and Harry, recognizing defeat, followed suit.

“I want you all to go straight to bed, no talking,” she said as they reached the first landing. “We’ve got a busy day tomorrow. I expect Ginny’s asleep,” she added to Hermione, “so try not to wake her up.”

“Asleep, yeah, right,” said Fred in an undertone, after Hermione bade them good night and they were climbing to the next floor. “If Ginny’s not lying awake waiting for Hermione to tell her everything they said downstairs, then I’m a flobberworm. . . .”

“All right, Ron, Harry,” said Mrs. Weasley on the second landing, pointing them into their bedroom. “Off to bed with you.” “

’Night,” Harry and Ron said to the twins.

“Sleep tight,” said Fred, winking at them.

“Alright you three, off to bed with you,” Mrs. Weasley ushered them up to the third landing.

The went to their separate rooms without a word. Emile quickly changed into her pajamas and climbed into bed, expecting George and Fred to pop in and talk about what they had heard.

But they never came.

 


	42. Night Terrors

Emile woke up at four am from another nightmare. The same bed, the same night. Her grandfather slowly dying, and there was nothing she could do. The hurricane was raging outside, the power was out. Something came out of the darkness.

“Emile?” Mrs. Weasley came into the kitchen at around six in the morning. “Goodnes, what’s wrong?”

“Oh I, um, had a nightmare,” Emile said as she finished her fifth cup of tea.

**_That… that might have been my fault? I’m not sure._ **

**What do you mean?**

**_You have to go back to sleep for me to test this theory._ **

“Dear, you must go sleep some more,” Mrs. Weasley said kindly, putting her hand on Emile’s shoulder and gently guiding her towards the stairs.

“It’s fine, I’m not that-” Emile broke off with a huge yawn.

“It is not fine and you are going to sleep in, young lady,” Mrs. Weasley huffed as she followed Emile to her room, making sure she went into bed.

“I’ll be checking in on you,” She said before closing the door.

Emile lay there for a while, staring at the ceiling, until she sank into an uneasy sleep.

“WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!”

Mrs. Weasley’s booming voice echoed throughout the house, waking Emile up.

**_Someone’s in trouble._ **

**I bet it’s Mundungus.**

**_He’s brilliant, he’s the best man in this pathetic Order._ **

**Watch yourself or I’ll block you out.**

“— COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE, AS IF WE HAVEN’T GOT ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGING STOLEN CAULDRONS INTO THE HOUSE —”

Emile hopped out of bed and stretched before slipping on her slippers and Weasley sweater and heading downstairs. As Emile passed the portrait in the hallway she tripped over her own feet, thudding onto the floor.

“Filth! Scum! By-products of dirt and vileness! Half-breeds, mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers —”

Somewhere on the second landing a door slammed shut as Emile scrambled to her feet. She grabbed the moth eaten curtains that covered the portrait and pulled them shut, holding them down until they screaming stopped.

“Emile, sorry if we woke you,” Mrs. Weasley smiled as Emile shuffled into the kitchen. Emile couldn’t help but notice that her face was extremely red.

“It’s fine, Mrs. Weasley. Where is everyone?”

“Oh they’re cleaning the drawing room,” She said as she began to magically whip up sandwiches. “As soon as you get dressed you are free to join us.”

“Alright,” Emile yawned and shuffled out of the kitchen. Once she reached her room she swapped her pajama pants for jeans and zipped up a hoodie, not bothering to put on a shirt over her bra. It was going to be another slow day, there was no need.

“I’m ready!” She called as she came into the drawing room, where everyone was eating sandwiches. Everyone, that was, except for Sirius and Harry, who were admiring a tapestry in the corner.

“About time,” George mumbled around his mouthful of sandwich.

“We thought you’d died,” Fred laughed as he passed a sandwich to Emile, who sat down in between George and Ginny.

“You missed the doxy hoard,” Ginny said as Emile chewed.

“Hurry up, you two, or there won’t be any food left,” Mrs. Weasley called to Sirius and Harry.

Soon they began cleaning again, sorting through the items in the room. Sirius sustained a bad bite from a silver snuffbox; within seconds, his bitten hand had developed an unpleasant crusty covering like a tough brown glove.

“It’s okay,” he said, examining the hand with interest before tapping it lightly with his wand and restoring its skin to normal, “must be Wartcap powder in there.”

He threw the box aside into the sack where they were depositing the debris from the cabinets; Emile noticed George wrap his own hand carefully in a cloth moments later and sneak the box into his already lumpy pocket.

They found an unpleasant-looking silver instrument, something like a many-legged pair of tweezers, which scuttled up Harry’s arm like a spider when he picked it up, and attempted to puncture his skin; Sirius seized it and smashed it with a heavy book entitled  _Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy_. There was a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune when wound, and they all found themselves becoming curiously weak and sleepy until Ginny had the sense to slam the lid shut; also a heavy locket that none of them could open, a number of ancient seals and, in a dusty box, an Order of Merlin, First Class, that had been awarded to Sirius’s grandfather for “Services to the Ministry.” �

“It means he gave them a load of gold,” said Sirius contemptuously, throwing the medal into the rubbish sack.

Several times, Kreacher sidled into the room and attempted to smuggle things away under his loincloth, muttering horrible curses every time they caught him at it. When Sirius wrested a large golden ring bearing the Black crest from his grip Kreacher actually burst into furious tears and left the room sobbing under his breath and calling Sirius names Emile had never heard herself before.

**_I’ve used a majority of these!_ **

**Dear lord.**

“It was my father’s,” said Sirius, throwing the ring into the sack. “Kreacher wasn’t quite as devoted to him as to my mother, but I still caught him snogging a pair of my father’s old trousers last week.”

For the next three days they worked on clearing the drawing room. Once it was finally decontaminated the only undesired item left was the tapestry on the wall and the rattling writing desk. Moody hadn’t been by recently so they hadn’t gotten much of a chance to ask him to check it out.

They moved from the drawing room to a dining room on the ground floor where they found spiders large as saucers lurking in the dresser (Ron left the room hurriedly to make a cup of tea and did not return for an hour and a half). The china, which bore the Black crest and motto, was all thrown unceremoniously into a sack by Sirius, and the same fate met a set of old photographs in tarnished silver frames, all of whose occupants squealed shrilly as the glass covering them smashed.

Snape might refer to their work as “cleaning,” but in Emile’s opinion they were really waging war on the house, which was putting up a very good fight, aided and abetted by Kreacher. The house-elf kept appearing wherever they were congregated, his muttering becoming more and more offensive as he attempted to remove anything he could from the rubbish sacks. Sirius went as far as to threaten him with clothes, but Kreacher fixed him with a watery stare and said, “Master must do as Master wishes,” before turning away and muttering very loudly, “but Master will not turn Kreacher away, no, because Kreacher knows what they are up to, oh yes, he is plotting against the Dark Lord, yes, with these Mudbloods and traitors and scum. . . .”

At which Sirius, ignoring Hermione’s protests, seized Kreacher by the back of his loincloth and threw him bodily from the room. The doorbell rang several times a day, which was the cue for Sirius’s mother to start shrieking again, and for Harry and the others to attempt to eavesdrop on the visitor, though they gleaned very little from the brief glimpses and snatches of conversation they were able to sneak before Mrs. Weasley recalled them to their tasks. Snape flitted in and out of the house several times more, they also caught sight of Professor McGonagall, looking very odd in a Muggle dress and coat. She also seemed too busy to linger.

Sometimes, however, the visitors stayed to help; Tonks joined them for a memorable afternoon in which they found a murderous old ghoul lurking in an upstairs toilet, and Lupin, who was staying in the house with Sirius but who left it for long periods to do mysterious work for the Order, helped them repair a grandfather clock that had developed the unpleasant habit of shooting heavy bolts at passersby. Mundungus redeemed himself slightly in Mrs. Weasley’s eyes by rescuing Ron from an ancient set of purple robes that had tried to strangle him when he removed them from their wardrobe.

During dinner on Wednesday evening Mrs. Weasley turned to Harry and said quietly, “I’ve ironed your best clothes for tomorrow morning, Harry, and I want you to wash your hair tonight too. A good first impression can work wonders.”

Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Emile, and Ginny all stopped eating their chops and talking and looked over at him. Harry nodded and continued eating.

“How am I getting there?” he asked Mrs. Weasley, trying to sound unconcerned.

“Arthur’s taking you to work with him,” said Mrs. Weasley gently.

Mr. Weasley smiled encouragingly at Harry across the table.

“You can wait in my office until it’s time for the hearing,” he said.

Emile didn’t sleep well again that night. She was in a courtroom, being held down in a chair by chains.

“I didn’t do it!” She was screaming at Mr. Crouch. “Please don’t do this, don’t send me back to the dementors! Father, please! Mother! Do something!”

But it was too late. They were back. As the cold took over her, the one thing she could focus on where Mr. Crouch’s eyes boring into her own.

Emile sat up with a start, rubbing her eyes and squinting at the clock.

**It’s four in the morning.**

**_You saw that._ **

**I did.**

**_How?_ **

**I, I’m not sure. I didn’t want to. It must have been you.**

**_Harry’s trial was bound to bring up some old memories._ **

Emile sighed and climbed out of bed, slipping on her hoodie and slippers before heading down to the kitchen.

**_You aren’t even going to try sleeping more?_ **

**Not without a cup of tea.**

**_You’re so british._ **

The kitchen was empty, not that Emile expected anyone to be there. She lit the old fashioned gas lamp and turned on the stove, filling up a tea kettle with water and leaving it to boil. She put a sandwich together for herself and sat at the table, eating it slowly, until a loud whistle filled the kitchen. She filled a teapot with chamomile tea and set it back onto the table next to a teacup.

“Emile?” A concerned looking Lupin came in fifteen minutes before five.

“Morning,” Emile yawned as Tonks came in a few moment’s later.

“What’ve you got there?” She said as she opened the pot and took a sniff. “Oh, chamomile. I’ll have a cup of that, I’m exhausted.”

“Have you two been guarding the weapon?” Emile asked as Lupin made himself a sandwich.

“I have, Lupin has his own mission,” Tonks said as she poured herself the last of the chamomile tea.

“Morning everyone,” Mr. Weasley came into the room, fully dressed.

“Emile, how long have you been up?” Mrs. Weasley asked with a yawn as she followed her husband into the kitchen. Except she was in a purple, quilted dressing gown.

“Not that long,” Emile yawned.

**_An hour._ **

**Oh shush. Not like sleep affects you in any way.**

**_Ok but I can see how it affects you._ **

**Aw, do you care for me?**

**_To a certain extent yes. If you die then I die too, and how would I return to my master then?_ **

**I hate you.**

Harry came in just as Emile finished her fourth cup of tea. Mrs. Weasley leapt to her feet the moment he entered.

“Breakfast,” she said as she pulled out her wand and hurried over to the fire.

“M-m-morning, Harry,” yawned Tonks.“Sleep all right?”

“Yeah,” said Harry.

“I’ve b-b-been up all night,” she said, with another shuddering yawn. “Come and sit down. . . .”

She drew out a chair, knocking over the one beside it in the process.

“What do you want, Harry?” Mrs. Weasley called. “Porridge? Muffins? Kippers? Bacon and eggs? Toast?”

“Just — just toast, thanks,” said Harry.

Lupin glanced at Harry, then said to Tonks, “What were you saying about Scrimgeour?”

“Oh . . . yeah . . . well, we need to be a bit more careful, he’s been asking Kingsley and me funny questions. . . .”

Emile got up at that moment, intent on going back to bed.

“Good luck Harry,” She whispered as she passed. “We’re all rooting for you.”

He gave a small nod in response.

Emile slept till noon and spent the afternoon organizing her room. Sirius came in to talk with her for a bit about her plans for the school year.

“Well, I don’t plan on staying here long. Just till I graduate, then hopefully I can manage to get a job or apprenticeship somewhere. I have enough money to get me started with my own place, so that isn’t too much of a problem.”

“Pity,” Sirius said. “The house will be lonely without you kids.”

As they ate lunch they sat around the table, waiting for Harry to return. When he finally showed up, breathless with excitement, all hell broke loose.

“I knew it!” yelled Ron, punching the air. “You always get away with stuff!”

“They were bound to clear you,” said Hermione, who had looked positively faint with anxiety when Harry had entered the kitchen and was now holding a shaking hand over her eyes. “There was no case against you, none at all. . . .”

“Everyone seems quite relieved, though, considering they all knew I’d get off,” said Harry, smiling.

Mrs. Weasley was wiping her face on her apron, and Fred, George, and Ginny were doing a kind of war dance to a chant that went “He got off, he got off, he got off —”

“That’s enough, settle down!” shouted Mr. Weasley, though he too was smiling. “Listen, Sirius, Lucius Malfoy was at the Ministry —”

“What?” said Sirius sharply. “He got off, he got off, he got off —” “Be quiet, you three! Yes, we saw him talking to Fudge on level� nine, then they went up to Fudge’s office together. Dumbledore ought to know.”

“Absolutely,” said Sirius. “We’ll tell him, don’t worry.”

“Well, I’d better get going, there’s a vomiting toilet in Bethnal Green waiting for me. Molly, I’ll be late, I’m covering for Tonks, but Kingsley might be dropping in for dinner —”

“He got off, he got off, he got off —”

“That’s enough — Fred — George — Ginny!” said Mrs. Weasley, as Mr. Weasley left the kitchen. “Harry dear, come and sit down, have some lunch, you hardly ate breakfast. . . .”

Ron and Hermione sat across from Harry at one end of the table. Emile, who had been reading at the other, was pulled up by George.

“Come on, join in!” He said giddily.

“Yeah Em, You aren’t too old to have fun!” Fred laughed.

“He got off, he got off,” Ginny chanted in turn with the boys as each one talked to Emile, who joined in.

“ ’Course, once Dumbledore turned up on your side, there was no way they were going to convict you,” said Ron happily, now dishing great mounds of mashed potatoes onto everyone’s plates.

“Yeah, he swung it for me,” said Harry.

Ron paused with a mouthful of mashed potatoes,“I bet Dumbledore turns up this evening to celebrate with us, you know.”

“I don’t think he’ll be able to, Ron,” said Mrs. Weasley, setting a huge plate of roast chicken down in front of Harry. “He’s really very busy at the moment.”

The four of them were jumping in a circle now. “HE GOT OFF, HE GOT OFF, HE GOT OFF —”

“SHUT UP!” roared Mrs. Weasley.


	43. Nathaniel Ackerman

The next few weeks were rather uneventful. The had finished cleaning the house, so there wasn’t much left to do. One would think that living in the headquarters of the anti-Voldemort movement would be juicy and exciting, but Mrs. Weasley was determined to keep them as far away from the conversations as she possibly could.

Outside of Emile’s lessons with Snape, she wasn’t really participating in Order meeting’s anymore. It was rather boring now that she knew what was going on, mainly discussing shifts and who in the ministry seemed to be onto them.

One uneventful Saturday, Tonks escorted Emile and George back to the Burrow to check on Nepeta. George only came because he needed to fetch some supplies and his broomstick.

“Blimey, the last day of summer holiday’s is tomorrow!” Tonks said a bit wistfully as she helped Emile clean the tack.

“We’ll miss you too, Tonks,” Emile said with a grin, momentarily looking up from where she was polishing a saddle.

“Are we ready to take her for a ride?” George said as he walked into the makeshift barn, broomstick in one hand and box in the other.

“What have you got in there?” Tonks tried to look inside the box, but was immediately chased away by George.

“Nothing important,’ He said as his face turned a bit red.

“Joke shop items,” Emile said to Tonks, hanging up the saddle as George huffed behind her.

“We can ride her as soon as I brush her, hand me that box there.”

Emile spaced out as she brushed Nepeta, not paying attention to the conversation behind her.

**_Your horse seems nice._ **

**Would you like to see her?**

**_Was it that obvious?_ **

**You get ten seconds.**

Emile closed her eyes and leaned against the wall.

**_Ok open them now._ **

**There.**

**_Oh she’s a beauty, she’s an Arabian, right?_ **

**Since when do you know your horses?**

**_I’ve always found them interesting._ **

**Ok, time’s up.**

“You alright Emile?” Tonks called as Emile stood up straight, shaking her head.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine,” Emile said as she grabbed the saddle blanket. “Let’s take her out for a spin.”

Tonks was nervous about letting Emile ride far, until George let her borrow his broomstick so that she could keep an eye on her.

“Oh, wait. I can’t leave George here alone,” Tonks chewed on her lip.

“He can ride with me,” Emile said, holding out her hand to the redhead.

“I can?” George took it, a bewildered expression on his face.

“Of course,” Emile rolled her eyes and pulled him up. It was a bit uncomfortable having two people on one saddle, but once George got over his awkwardness and held onto her waist it wasn’t so bad.

“Why don’t you go into a field related to Care of Magical Creatures?” George asked as the passed the pond they had ice skated on two Christmases ago.

“Technically I am,” Emile said with a grin. “You need to get wand cores somehow, and It isn’t exactly simple to get a unicorn hair.”

“Knowing you, you’ll find a simple way,” George said with a smirk.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Emile said, slightly offended.

“It means you’re lazy.”

**_Well, he isn’t wrong._ **

**Don’t you start as well.**

**_Sorry._ **

**No you’re not.**

“We ought to start heading back soon!” Tonks called down to them as the neared the rise that led down to the muggle village.

The next day booklists arrived. Ron came into Emile’s room holding the envelope addressed to her.

“Toss it onto the bed,” She called from the corner. In this specific corner she had moved a bookshelf and placed a full length mirror to form sort of a changing area, and she was trying on last years robes. She hadn’t grown in the past year, so they still fit well.

Emile opened the letter as soon as she changed back into shorts and a tank top. All of her books were the same, except for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

“Defensive Magical Theory, by Wilbert Slinkhard,” She read aloud, a moment before a loud crack sounded and Fred and George appeared in front of her.

“So Dumbledore found a new teacher,” Fred said with a frown.

“He was having trouble finding one too, I hear,” Emile said as she put the booklist down and pulled out the usual letter, wondering if it might contain a clue as to who the new teacher was.

“No surprise there, really,” Fred snorted. “Come on George, let’s go check on Harry and Ron.”

With another loud crack the two of them disapparated, leaving Emile alone to gawk at the badge that had tumbled out alongside the train ticket.

**I’m Head Girl!**

**_No surprise there. If I was a teacher I would recomend you too._ **

**This is fantastic! I’ve got to write to Lee to see if he’s Head Boy.**

**_He most likely is. You two have been prefects for the past two years. But don’t write to him when you’ll just see him tomorrow._ **

**Good point. Head Girl. Blimey.**

A few minutes later there was a loud crack and the twins faces appeared behind Emile in the mirror.

“Oh no, not you too,” Fred groaned, his face in his hands.

“I was only trying it on!” Emile said indignantly, taking the badge off the front of the blouse she had changed into.

“That makes three then,” George said with a sigh, sitting down on Emile’s bed. “Mom’s going to explode.”

“I’m just going to make a wild guess and say Hermione and Harry are prefects?” Emile said as she joined him.

“Hermione and Ron,” Fred said, putting emphasis on the second name.

“Ron? Really? Wow, I mean it isn’t completely unexpected but with Harry being the chosen one and all it just seemed like he’d be the one.”

“Mom’s getting ickle Ronnie-kins a new broom and everything,” George frowned.

“Oh stop it you two,” Emile said, crossing her arms. “You ought to be happy for your brother.”

At that moment Mrs. Weasley’s voice came from outside Emile’s door, and the twins disapparated.

“Emile! I’m off to Diagon Alley. Could you make a small list of the items you’re missing?” Mrs. Weasley stuck her head into the room, smiling.

“Of course, Mrs. Weasley,” Emile said as she put the badge into her pocket. Hermione and Ron deserved the glory now.

Down in the basement Mrs. Weasley had hung a scarlet banner over the heavily laden dinner table, which read “Congratulations Ron and Hermione — New Prefects”. She looked in a better mood than Emile had seen her all holiday.

“I’m all packed,” Emile said as she walked in. “Wow, this place looks great!”

“I thought we’d have a little party, not a sit-down dinner,” she told Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Ginny as they entered the room. “Your father and Bill are on their way, Ron, I’ve sent them both owls and they’re thrilled,” she added, beaming.

Fred rolled his eyes. Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, and Kingsley Shacklebolt were already there and Mad-Eye Moody stumped in shortly.

“Evening Mad Eye,” Emile chirped as he sat down next to her.

“Congratulations on the badge,” He growled back.

**_Why was he looking at your pants?_ **

**You’re disgusting.**

“Oh, Alastor, I am glad you’re here,” said Mrs. Weasley brightly, as Mad-Eye shrugged off his traveling cloak. “We’ve been wanting to ask you for ages — could you have a look in the writing desk in the drawing room and tell us what’s inside it? We haven’t wanted to open it just in case it’s something really nasty.”

“No problem, Molly . . .” Moody’s electric-blue eye swiveled upward and stared fixedly through the ceiling of the kitchen.

“Drawing room . . .” he growled, as the pupil contracted. “Desk in the corner? Yeah, I see it. . . . Yeah, it’s a boggart. . . . Want me to go up and get rid of it, Molly?”

“No, no, I’ll do it myself later,” beamed Mrs. Weasley. “You have your drink. We’re having a little bit of a celebration, actually. . . .” She gestured at the scarlet banner. “Fourth prefect in the family!” she said fondly, ruffling Ron’s hair.

“Prefect, eh?” growled Moody, his normal eye on Ron and his magical eye swiveling around to gaze into the side of his head. Harry had the very uncomfortable feeling it was looking at him and moved away toward Sirius and Lupin.

“Well, congratulations,” said Moody, still glaring at Ron with his normal eye, “authority figures always attract trouble, but I suppose Dumbledore thinks you can withstand most major jinxes or he wouldn’t have appointed you. . . .”

Ron looked rather startled at this view of the matter but was saved the trouble of responding by the arrival of his father and eldest brother. Mrs. Weasley was in such a good mood she did not even complain that they had brought Mundungus with them too; he was wearing a long overcoat that seemed oddly lumpy in unlikely places and declined the offer to remove it and put it with Moody’s traveling cloak.

“Well, I think a toast is in order,” said Mr. Weasley, when everyone had a drink. He raised his goblet. “To Ron and Hermione, the new Gryffindor prefects!”

“Aren’t you going to tell them?” Fred whispered in her ear as the adults cheered.

“Nope,” Emile whispered back as she helped herself to a baked potato.

“I was never a prefect myself,” said Tonks brightly from behind Harry as everybody moved toward the table to help themselves to food. Her hair was tomato-red and waist length today; she looked like Ginny’s older sister. “My Head of House said I lacked certain necessary qualities.”

“Like what?” said Ginny, who was choosing a baked potato. “Like the ability to behave myself,” said Tonks.

Ginny laughed; Hermione looked as though she did not know whether to smile or not and compromised by taking an extra large gulp of butterbeer and choking on it.

“What about you, Sirius?” Ginny asked, thumping Hermione on the back. Sirius, who was right beside Harry, let out his usual barklike laugh.

“No one would have made me a prefect, I spent too much time in detention with James. Lupin was the good boy, he got the badge.”

“I think Dumbledore might have hoped that I would be able to exercise some control over my best friends,” said Lupin. “I need scarcely say that I failed dismally.”

Mundungus was whispering with Fred and George in the corner. Emile joined them a moment before Harry did.

“Look what Dung’s gotten us,” said George, holding out his hand to Harry. It was full of what looked like shriveled black pods. A faint rattling noise was coming from them, even though they were completely stationary.

“Venomous Tentacula seeds,” said George. “We need them for the Skiving Snackboxes but they’re a Class C Non-Tradeable Substance so we’ve been having a bit of trouble getting hold of them.”

“Ten Galleons the lot, then, Dung?” said Fred.

“Wiv all the trouble I went to to get ’em?” said Mundungus, his saggy, bloodshot eyes stretching even wider. “I’m sorry, lads, but I’m not taking a Knut under twenty.”

“Dung likes his little joke,” Fred said to Harry.

“Yeah, his best one so far has been six Sickles for a bag of knarl quills,” said George.

“Be careful,” Harry warned them quietly.

“What?” said Fred. “Mum’s busy cooing over Prefect Ron, we’re okay.”

“But Moody could have his eye on you,” Harry pointed out.

Mundungus looked nervously over his shoulder.

“Good point, that,” he grunted. “Alright, lads, ten it is, if you’ll take ’em quick.”

“Cheers, Harry!” said Fred delightedly, when Mundungus had emptied his pockets into the twins’ outstretched hands and scuttled off toward the food. “We’d better get these upstairs. Coming, Em?”

“I’ll stay here and ward of your mother if she asks questions,” Emile said as she went to get more food.

“I doubt she’ll notice, she has Ronnie-kins to fawn over,” Fred snorted as they crept away from the party.

**_You seem a bit down._ **

**I can’t wait for school tomorrow. And I’m so tired.**

Mrs. Weasley yawned widely. “Well, I think I’ll sort out that boggart before I turn in. . . . Arthur, I don’t want this lot up too late, all right? ’Night, Harry, dear.”

“Wotcher, Emile,” Tonks smiled as she sat down next to her with Bill.

“Hello Tonks, Bill.”

“Excited for your seventh year of school?” Bill asked as Emile took a gulp of butterbeer.

“Yeah, nervous for the N.E.W.T.NEWT’s,” Emile turned to Tonks. “How did you do on them? Where they worst then the O.W.L.OWL’s?”

“Well I did pretty good, good enough to become an Auror,” Tonks said with a laugh.

“They aren’t too bad, it’s a bit better then the O.W.L.OWL’s because there isn’t as many tests you need to prepare for,” Bill smiled.

“What’s that you’ve got there, Mad-Eye?” Sirius said a bit loudly as he sat down across from them and next to the Auror.

“A picture of the original Order,” Mad Eye growled and placed the picture down on the table, his magical eye rolling backwards.

“Look there Tonks, Frank and Alice Longbottom,” Lupin said as he drew the picture closer.

“Poor devils,” growled Mad Eye. “Better dead then what happened to them. Oi, Remus, Sirius, go check on Molly in the drawing room, will you?”

The two men leapt to their feet and ran out of the room, leaving Tonks to talk with Mad Eye and Emile with the picture.

Emile felt her gut wrench as she stared at her mother. She didn’t resemble her at all, her father said she took after him. But that woman’s blood ran through her veins.

**_I haven’t seen her in years._ **

**You’ve been in Azkaban.**

**_And she’s been in St. Mungo’s._ **

**She has?**

**_Permanent resident. Bellatrix has one hell of a Cruciatus Curse._ **

“Excuse me,” Emile choked out as she grabbed her butterbeer and slipped out of the crowded basement.

She headed up to her room, clutching the mug. On her way up the stairs she ran into the twins, and gave them a small smile as she passed. In her room, she locked the door drew the curtains, turning on the muggle radio. As the low notes of a cello hummed throughout the room Emile curled up on the bed and fell asleep.

Sometime in the night Emile woke up. She had been dreaming about her mother, her face twisted with pain. The screams still echoed in her mind.

“Aguamenti,” she whispered and pointed her wand into an empty cup by her bed. She quickly drained the cool water as she sat up in bed staring into the darkness.

**_It’s four in the morning._ **

**I need to finish packing.**

**_It’s four in the morning._ **

**There’s a lot to pack.**

**_It’s four in the morning._ **

**Is that all you’re going to say?**

**_You have seven hours. Go back to sleep._ **

**I’m fine, I’ve gotten six hours of sleep. I can last a while.**

Emile went over to the piles next to her trunk and began packing everything in neatly. First went the broom, books, containers of rat food, and the boxes of room decorations and photographs. Then her clothes, neatly stacked and rolled up to take up as little space as possible. On top of that went her quilts and blankets and the remaining space was taken up by pillows. In her mokeskin pouch she put her sketchbook, camera and film, pencil pouch, wallet, and robes to change into. By the time she had finished it was six in the morning.

Emile snuck downstairs and made a few slices of toast the she carried up to her room, where she sat on the windowsill and watched the sun rise. Soon the house began to come to life. First Mrs. Weasley woke up, taking a morning shower before getting started in the kitchen. Then Ginny and Hermione, who were soon joined by the twins. Emile carried her trunk downstairs, being the first to put it in the hallway before returning upstairs, passing a sleepy Ron as she went.

On her way back down with Carrot’s cage and her mokeskin pouch, Emile watched as Fred and George bewitched their trunks to fly downstairs to save the bother of carrying them, with the result that they had hurtled straight into Ginny and knocked her down two flights of stairs into the hall; Mrs. Black and Mrs. Weasley were both screaming at the top of their voices.

“— COULD HAVE DONE HER A SERIOUS INJURY, YOU IDIOTS —”

“— FILTHY HALF-BREEDS, BESMIRCHING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS —”

Mrs. Weasley stormed past Emile, who was standing in the hallway trying her best not to laugh. Ginny would be fine, Mrs. Weasley was an experienced mother who knew how to heal concussions, scrapes, and bruises.

As Emile talking with the twins while they ate eggs, Mad Eye strolled in. He was wearing a bowler hat that was pulled low over his face to hide his magical eye.

“We’re just about ready,” Mrs. Weasley wheezed from next to a healed Ginny.

“Sorry Molly, we can’t leave until Sturgis Podmore shows up. Can’t have the guard be a member short, you never know what could happen,” Mad Eye looked over at Fred, Emie, and George. “Constant Vigilance.”

“WILL YOU LOT GET DOWN HERE NOW, PLEASE!” Mrs. Weasley bellowed from the bottom of the stairs.

Mrs. Black’s portrait was howling with rage but nobody was bothering to close the curtains over her; all the noise in the hall was bound to rouse her again anyway.

“Harry, you’re to come with me and Tonks,” shouted Mrs. Weasley over the repeated screeches of “MUDBLOODS ! SCUM! CREATURES OF DIRT!”

“Leave your trunk and your owl, Alastor’s going to deal with the luggage. . . . Oh, for heaven’s sake, Sirius, Dumbledore said no!”

A bearlike black dog had appeared at Harry’s side as Harry clambered over the various trunks cluttering the hall to get to Mrs. Weasley.

“Oh honestly . . .” said Mrs. Weasley despairingly, “well, on your own head be it!”

She wrenched open the front door and stepped out into the weak September sunlight. Harry and the dog followed her. The door slammed behind them.

“Alright. Ron, Hermione, with me!” Mr. Weasley called and they too left.

“The rest of you come with me!” Lupin called to Emile, Ginny, and the twins.

“I’ll be right behind ya,” Mad Eye growled as Lupin closed the door behind them.

It took them twenty minutes to reach King’s Cross by foot and nothing more eventful happened during that time than a hungover man making rude comments to Emile and Ginny.

“Disgusting,” Ginny’s nose wrinkled as the walked off, the boys flanking the girls.

“That’s men,” Emile shrugged.

“Not all men are like that,” Lupin said with a quizzical smile at Emile.

Once inside the station they lingered casually beside the barrier between platforms nine and ten until the coast was clear, then each of them leaned against it in turn and fell easily through onto platform nine and three quarters, where the Hogwarts Express stood belching sooty steam over a platform packed with departing students and their families.

“Darn it, we’re the last to arrive,” Fred pouted as they caught sight of the rest of the group next to Mad Eye Moody.

“No trouble?” growled Moody.

“Nothing,” said Lupin.

“I’ll still be reporting Sturgis to Dumbledore,” said Moody. “That’s the second time he’s not turned up in a week. Getting as unreliable as Mundungus.”

“Well, look after yourselves,” said Lupin, shaking hands all round. He reached Harry last and gave him a clap on the shoulder. “You too, Harry. Be careful.”

“Yeah, keep your head down and your eyes peeled,” said Moody, shaking Harry’s hand too. “And don’t forget, all of you — careful what you put in writing. If in doubt, don’t put it in a letter at all. That goes for all of you,” He added with a look at all the kids, his magical eye lingering on Emile.

It’s been great meeting all of you,” said Tonks, hugging Emile, Hermione, and Ginny. “We’ll see you soon, I expect.”

A warning whistle sounded; the students still on the platform started hurrying onto the train.

“Quick, quick,” said Mrs. Weasley distractedly, hugging them at random. “Write. . . . Be good. . . . If you’ve forgotten anything we’ll send it on. . . . Onto the train, now, hurry. . . .”

For one brief moment, the great black dog reared onto its hind legs and placed its front paws on Harry’s shoulders.

**_Jesus Christ act more like a dog._ **

Mrs. Weasley shoved Harry away toward the train door hissing, “For heaven’s sake act more like a dog, Sirius!”

“See you!” Harry called out of the open window as the train began to move, while Ron, Hermione, and Ginny waved beside him. The figures of Tonks, Lupin, Moody, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shrank rapidly but the black dog was bounding alongside the window, wagging its tail; blurred people on the platform were laughing to see it chasing the train, and then they turned the corner, and Sirius was gone.

“He shouldn’t have come with us,” said Hermione in a worried voice.

“Oh lighten up,” said Ron, “he hasn’t seen daylight for months, poor bloke.”

“Well,” said Fred, clapping his hands together, “can’t stand around chatting all day, we’ve got business to discuss with Lee. See you later.”

Emile followed the twins down the corridor and out of sight, levitating their trunks behind them.

“Don’t you have Head Girl responsibilities to take care of?” George asked once they had stowed their trunks in a compartment that Angelina and Alicia were sitting in.

“Probably,” Emile shrugged. “I’ll be back later, I guess.”

“See you!” George waved as she walked away down the carriages.

Emile joined the group of Prefects and Head boy’s and girl’s in the prefects carriage. She sat and listened as the Ravenclaw Head boy and girl explain the prefect duties to them. Hermione was anxiously taking notes in the corner. Afterwards everyone was free to go about their business.

“Hey there, Emile,” One of Cedric’s old friends came up to her. “I see you’re Head girl.”

“Yes but I have no idea who’s Head boy,” Emile looked around the carriage.

“Oh, that would be Nate,” the Hufflepuff nodded to a tall, dark haired boy sitting by the window, a book open in front of him.

**_Are you checking him out?_ **

**No, but this is weird. Since when do new kids become Head Boy?**

**_Well the rest of your year seems pretty incompetent._ **

**Watch it Barty, those are my friends.**

**_Don’t call me Barty._ **

“Hello,” Emile approached the new kid cautiously.

“Oh, hi,” He grinned and stuck out his hand. “Nathaniel Ackerman.”

“Emile Gorska,” Emile said as she shook his hand. “Can I sit here?”

“Sure,” the boy smiled as she sat down across from her. “So, you’re a Gryffindor too?”

“Mhm,” Emile nodded. “Tell me, where are you from?”

“London, I’ve lived there my whole life,” he said with a shrug.

“So, why haven’t you gone here before?” Emile asked as she stared at Nathaniel.

“My parents wanted me to go to Beauxbaton. My mom went there,” he shrugged. “After the Triwizard cup I was sent here.”

“Oh, so how do you know you’re in Gryffindor?”

“Dumbledore. He visited during the summer.”

“Oh.”

Nathaniel smiled at her. “Is the interview over?”

“Sorry,” Emile blushed. “I guess I’m kind of bothering you, I’ll leave you be.”

“No, it’s alright. I was wondering who the Head Girl would be,” Nathaniel smiled at her.

Emile sat with her legs crossed. “So, Nathaniel. Can I call you Nathan?”

He shrugged. “Usually my dad uses Nathan that when he’s mad, but I don’t mind being called that.”

“Nice,” Emile nodded her head.

“So, what classes are you taking?” Nathan closed his book and looked at Emile over his thick rimmed glasses.

**_Look at those glasses, he’s a total nerd._ **

**Bartemius Crouch Jr., be nice.**

**_Okay, mom._ **

“Oh, a few. Potions, Charms, History of Magic, Astronomy, and Defense Against the Dark Arts.”

“Wow, five N.E.W.T.NEWT classes? How do you manage?”

Emile laughed. “It isn’t that hard. As long as you don’t get sent to the hospital wing and miss classes you should do fine.”

Emile talked with Nathan the entire way to school. She told him about the other Gryffindor seventh years and what to watch out for when it came to his roommates. By the time they arrived at Hogsmeade Station they were chatting like old friends.

“Leave the trunks, they bring them up individually,” Emile said as she pulled Nathan towards the door. She had just changed into her robes, sticking her short auburn hair in pigtails as she did.

“First years line up over here, please! All first years to me!” A woman’s voice was calling out across the platform.

“Odd,” Emile said as she caught sight of Professor Grubbly-Plank, a witch who had substituted for Hagrid for a short time last year.

“Em!” George ran up to her, Fred and Lee on his tail. “We thought you were going to join us back in the carriage after your Head Girl meeting.”

“I got a bit sidetracked,” Emile said as she tugged Nathan closer. “George meet Nathan. Nathan meet George, Fred, and Lee. They’ll be your dorm mates for the school year.”

“Pleasure,” Nathan said as the three shook his hand.

“Let’s go to the carriages, Lee said impatiently.

The thestral drawn carriages were waiting patiently, as usual. The five of them clambered into one, talking over the noise of Harry freaking out.

“Poor bloke,” Nathan said with a look behind them. “I bet he’s just noticed the thestrals.”

“You can see them too?” Emile stared at Nathan.

“No, but I read about the carriages in  _Hogwarts: a History_.”

Fred groaned from across the carriage. “Don’t let Hermione know you’ve read that or you two might end up in a fanclub together.”

Emile and George laughed at Nathan’s bewildered expression as the carriage began to move up to the castle.

“I bet that’s the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor,” Emile whispered in Fred’s ear as they entered the great hall.

Up at the staff table, Dumbledore’s head was inclined toward the woman sitting next to him, who was talking into his ear. She looked like somebody’s maiden aunt: squat, with short, curly, mouse-brown hair in which she had placed a horrible pink Alice band that matched the fluffy pink cardigan she wore over her robes. Then she turned her face slightly to take a sip from her goblet and she saw a pallid, toadlike face and a pair of prominent, pouchy eyes.

“She looks like great Aunt Tessy,” George said, elbowing Fred, who snorted.

Professor Grubbly-Plank appeared at the staff table a moment later, indicating that the first years had crossed the lake. Emile turned to watch the nervous younglings march into the hall, eyes flickering around the room nervously.

The whole school waited with bated breath. Then the rip near the hat’s brim opened wide like a mouth and the Sorting Hat burst into song:

In times of old when I was new And Hogwarts barely started The founders of our noble school Thought never to be parted: United by a common goal, They had the selfsame yearning, To make the world’s best magic school And pass along their learning. “Together we will build and teach!” The four good friends decided And never did they dream that they Might someday be divided, For were there such friends anywhere As Slytherin and Gryffndor? Unless it was the second pair Of Huffepuff and Ravenclaw?So how could it have gone so wrong? How could such friendships fail? Why, I was there and so can tell The whole sad, sorry tale. Said Slytherin, “We’ll teach just those Whose ancestry is purest.” Said Ravenclaw, “We’ll teach those whose Intelligence is surest.” Said Gryffindor, “We’ll teach all those With brave deeds to their name,” Said Hufflepujf, “I’ll teach the lot, And treat them just the same.” These differences caused little strife When first they came to light, For each of the four founders had A House in which they might Take only those they wanted, so, For instance, Slytherin Took only pure-blood wizards Of great cunning, just like him, And only those of sharpest mind Were taught by Ravenclaw While the bravest and the boldest Went to daring Gryffindor. Good Hufflepujf she took the rest, And taught them all she knew, Thus the Houses and their founders Retained friendships firm and true. So Hogwarts worked in harmony For several happy years, But then discord crept among us Feeding on our faults and fears.The Houses that, like pillars four, Had once held up our school, Now turned upon each other and, Divided, sought to rule. And for a while it seemed the school Must meet an early end, What with dueling and with fighting And the clash of friend on friend And at last there came a morning When old Slytherin departed And though the fighting then died out He left us quite downhearted. And never since the founders four Were whittled down to three Have the Houses been united As they once were meant to be. And now the Sorting Hat is here And you all know the score: I sort you into Houses Because that is what I’m for, But this year I’ll go further, Listen closely to my song: Though condemned I am to split you Still I worry that it’s wrong, Though I must fulfill my duty And must quarter every year Still I wonder whether sorting May not bring the end I fear. Oh, know the perils, read the signs, The warning history shows, For our Hogwarts is in danger From external, deadly foesAnd we must unite inside her Or we’ll crumble from within. I have told you, I have warned you. . . . Let the Sorting now begin.

The hat became motionless once more; applause broke out, though it was punctured, for the first time in Emile’s memory, with muttering and whispers. All across the Great Hall students were exchanging remarks with their neighbors and Emile knew exactly what they were talking about.

She exchanged a look across the table with George, who then cast the same dark look at Fred. Fred winked at George. Nathan and Lee were giving the three of them odd looks and they burst out laughing.

Slowly the long line of first years thinned; in the pauses between the names and the Sorting Hat’s decisions, Emil could hear stomachs growling all along the table. Finally, “Zeller, Rose” was sorted into Hufflepuff, and Professor McGonagall picked up the hat and stool and marched them away as Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet.

“To our newcomers,” said Dumbledore in a ringing voice, his arms stretched wide and a beaming smile on his lips, “welcome! To our old hands — welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!” There was an appreciative laugh and an outbreak of applause as Dumbledore sat down neatly and threw his long beard over his shoulder so as to keep it out of the way of his plate — for food had appeared out of nowhere, so that the five long tables were groaning under joints and pies and dishes of vegetables, bread, sauces, and flagons of pumpkin juice.

“Baked beans, Emile!” George grinned as he passed her the platter.

“Isn’t that an American dish?” Nathan said, eyeing a lot of the food suspiciously.

“Come on french boy, you’ve got to get used to eating what you like,” Emile said teasingly.

“I probably would be used to it if I had been chosen to come here last year with the rest of my school,” Nathan sniffed and helped himself to a slice out of a large ham.

When all the students had finished eating and the noise level in the hall was starting to creep upward again, Dumbledore got to his feet once more. Talking ceased immediately as all turned to face the headmaster.

“Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast, I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices,” said Dumbledore. “First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students — and a few of our older students ought to know by now too.”

“Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you all that magic is not permitted in corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch’s office door.”

“We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubbly-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

There was a round of polite applause as Professor Umbridge looked at Dumbledore expectantly.

Dumbledore continued, “Tryouts for the House Quidditch teams will take place on the —”

He broke off, looking inquiringly at Professor Umbridge. As she was not much taller standing than sitting, there was a moment when nobody understood why Dumbledore had stopped talking, but then Professor Umbridge said, “Hem, hem,” and it became clear that she had got to her feet and was intending to make a speech.

Dumbledore only looked taken aback for a moment, then he sat back down smartly and looked alertly at Professor Umbridge as though he desired nothing better than to listen to her talk. Other members of staff were not as adept at hiding their surprise. Professor Sprout’s eyebrows had disappeared into her flyaway hair, and Professor McGonagall’s mouth was as thin as a needle. No new teacher had ever interrupted Dumbledore before. Many of the students were smirking; this woman obviously did not know how things were done at Hogwarts.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” Professor Umbridge simpered, “for those kind words of welcome.”

Her voice was high-pitched, breathy, and little-girlish.

“Merlin help her out of that ghastly cardigan,” Alicia was heard whispering to Angelina.

She gave another little throat clearing cough (“Hem, hem”) and continued: “Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say!” She smiled, revealing very pointed teeth. “And to see such happy little faces looking back at me!”

No one looked particularly happy. In fact, a large group of students looked a bit taken back by being addressed as though they were five years old.

“I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I’m sure we’ll be very good friends!”

Students exchanged looks at this; some of them were barely concealing grins and giggles.

Professor Umbridge cleared her throat again (“Hem, hem”), but when she continued, some of the breathiness had vanished from her voice. She sounded much more businesslike and now her words had a dull learned-by-heart sound to them.

“The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the Wizarding community must be passed down through the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished, and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.”

Professor Umbridge paused here and made a little bow to her fellow staff members, none of whom bowed back. Professor McGonagall’s dark eyebrows had contracted so that she looked positively hawklike, and Emile distinctly saw her exchange a significant glance with Professor Sprout as Umbridge gave another little “Hem, hem” and went on with her speech.

“Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress’s sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation . . .”

**_Blimey this woman can talk._ **

**She looks worse than she sounds.**

**_Could I see?_ **

**Sure.**

The now familiar blackness swept over Emile as Bartemius looked through her eyes.

**_That much pink should be illegal, but I recognize this woman._ **

**Of course you do. You know a bushel of ministry people.**

The darkness disappeared, leaving Emile to duly glance around the room. Nobody was paying attention to Umbridge.

“Are all your teachers this boring?” Nathan whispered to Emile.

“No, not at all,” she whispered back. “If you’re taking Transfiguration then you’ll get Professor McGonagall, she’s great. Strict but great.”

Professor Umbridge did not seem to notice the restlessness of her audience. The teachers, however, were still listening very attentively, and Hermione seemed to be drinking in every word Umbridge spoke, though judging by her expression, they were not at all to her taste.

“. . . because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognized as errors of judgment. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness, and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.”

She sat down. Dumbledore clapped. The staff followed his lead, though Harry noticed that several of them brought their hands together only once or twice before stopping. A few students joined in, but most had been taken unawares by the end of the speech, not having listened to more than a few words of it, and before they could start applauding properly, Dumbledore had stood up again.

“Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating,” he said, bowing to her. “Now — as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held . . .”

“Do you know who the new Captain is?” George whispered over to Emile.

“No, but my guess is either Harry, Angelina, or Alicia,” She whispered back.

There was a great clattering and banging all around them; Dumbledore had obviously just dismissed the school, because everyone was standing up ready to leave the Hall.

“Wait, we need to check if the prefects do their duties,” Emile said to Nathan, who had begun to stand up.

“Blimey Em, let the man breathe,” Fred said with an eye roll as he thumped Nathan on the shoulder. “Come with us mate, we’ll show you the dormitory.”

Emile shook her head and turned to watch Hermione and Ron.

“Ron, we’re supposed to show the first years where to go!”

“Oh yeah,” said Ron, who had obviously forgotten. “Hey — hey you lot! Midgets!”

“Ron!”

“Well, they are, they’re titchy. . . .”

“I know, but you can’t call them midgets. . . . First years!” Hermione called commandingly along the table. “This way, please!”

Emile watched from the table as they left the room before heading up herself, looking forward to the warm loft bed.

“Mimbulus Mimbletonia,” She said to the fat lady as she approached the common room.

“Right you are,” She chirped and swung open.

Emile joined her dorm mates in their room, congratulating Angelina on her new status as Quidditch Captain.

“You’ll love the fancy bathroom we get to use,” Emile said with a grin as Angelina stroked the badge nervously.

 


	44. Our First and Last Days

**GALLONS OF GALLEONS!**

**Pocket money failing to keep pace with your outgoings? Like to earn a little extra gold?**

**Contact Fred and George Weasley, Gryffindor common room, for simple, part-time, virtually painless jobs**

**(WE REGRET THAT ALL WORK IS UNDERTAKEN AT APPLICANT’S OWN RISK)**

Emile laughed as Fred and George showed her the sign they had made.

“Is the laughter a good thing or a bad thing?” Fred said after a moment.

“It better be good, Nathan made a load of these posters,” George complained.

“It’s great you two,” Emile said after a moment. “Thank Merlin you got someone with decent handwriting to do this. Though I don’t think it’s exactly allowed for you to do this.”

“You can’t stop us, you believe in this dream,” Fred said with a grin.

“No doubt Hermione will try to,” Emile yawned as they headed down to breakfast.

And, surprise surprise, as they walked past where Ron, Hermione, and Harry were sitting, Fred and George burst into grins as they heard their brother say, “ I wish Fred and George’d hurry up and get those Skiving Snackboxes sorted. . . .”

“Do mine ears deceive me?” said Fred squeezed onto the bench beside Harry. “Hogwarts prefects surely don’t wish to skive off lessons?”

“Look what we’ve got today,” said Ron grumpily, shoving his schedule under Fred’s nose. “That’s the worst Monday I’ve ever seen.”

“Fair point, little bro,” said Fred, scanning the column. “You can have a bit of Nosebleed Nougat cheap if you like.”

“Why’s it cheap?” said Ron suspiciously.

“Because you’ll keep bleeding till you shrivel up, we haven’t got an antidote yet,” said George, helping himself to a kipper.

“Cheers,” said Ron moodily, pocketing his schedule, “but I think I’ll take the lessons.”

“And speaking of your Skiving Snackboxes,” said Hermione, eyeing Fred and George beadily, “you can’t advertise for testers on the Gryffindor notice board.”

“Says who?” said George, looking astonished.

“Says me,” said Hermione. “And Ron.”

“Leave me out of it,” said Ron hastily.

Hermione glared at him. Fred and George sniggered.

“You’ll be singing a different tune soon enough, Hermione,” said Fred, thickly buttering a crumpet. “You’re starting your fifth year, you’ll be begging us for a Snackbox before long.”

“And why would starting fifth year mean I want a Skiving Snackbox?” asked Hermione.

“Fifth year’s O.W.L. year,” said George.

“So?” “So you’ve got your exams coming up, haven’t you? They’ll be keeping your noses so hard to that grindstone they’ll be rubbed raw,” said Fred with satisfaction.

“Half our year had minor breakdowns coming up to O.W.L.s,” said George happily. “Tears and tantrums . . . Patricia Stimpson kept coming over faint. . . .”

“I was in the hospital wing for almost a week total,” Emile said with a shudder.

“Kenneth Towler came out in boils, d’you remember?” said Fred reminiscently.

“That’s ’cause you put Bulbadox Powder in his pajamas,” said Emile and George at the same time, grinning at each other.

“Oh yeah,” said Fred, grinning. “I’d forgotten. . . . Hard to keep track sometimes, isn’t it?”

“Anyway, it’s a nightmare of a year, the fifth,” said George. “If you care about exam results anyway. Fred and I managed to keep our spirits up somehow.”

“Yeah . . . you got, what was it, three O.W.L.s each?” said Ron.

“Yep,” said Fred unconcernedly. “But we feel our futures lie outside the world of academic achievement.”

“We seriously debated whether we were going to bother coming back for our seventh year,” said George brightly, “now that we’ve got — now that we’ve got our O.W.L.s,” George said hastily. “I mean, do we really need N.E.W.T.s? But we didn’t think Mum could take us leaving school early, not on top of Percy turning out to be the world’s biggest prat.”

“We’re not going to waste our last year here, though,” said Fred, looking affectionately around at the Great Hall. “We’re going to use it to do a bit of market research, find out exactly what the average Hogwarts student requires from his joke shop, carefully evaluate the results of our research, and then produce the products to fit the demand.”

“But where are you going to get the gold to start a joke shop?” asked Hermione skeptically. “You’re going to need all the ingredients and materials — and premises too, I suppose. . . .”

“Ask us no questions and we’ll tell you no lies, Hermione. C’mon, George, if we get there early we might be able to sell a few Extendable Ears before Herbology.”

With that Emile, Fred and George each grabbed a stack of toast and walked off.

“You can tell me where you got all the money, right?” Emile mumbled after a moment.

“Well. . . “ Fred looked at George, who shrugged since he was unable to speak with a full mouth.

“Alright, Harry gave us his Triwizard prize money,” Fred gave Emile a nervous look. “Don’t tell anyone, alright?”

“Alright, and you don’t have Herbology until later.”

“Well we need to go get the Extendable Ears first,” George grinned at her after he had swallowed his mouthful of toast.

After a morning of charms in which Professor Flitwick fawned over Nathan’s perfect nonverbal water making spell, Emile found herself back in her dormitory with nothing to do. Everyone else was in herbology and she had unpacked her trunk last night. Seeing as there was nothing to do Emile lay down in her loft bed and fell asleep.

She was outside the maze with the Weasley’s. Harry and Cedric had just come out. Cedric wasn’t moving. She was crying. He had left.

Emile sat up with a start, her cheeks wet.

**_Emile?_ **

**What do you want now?**

**_Did I wake you again?_ **

**No it wasn’t you. I had a nightmare.**

**_What was it about?_ **

**Cedric, the night he died.**

**_Yeah that was probably me. I was digging through your memories._ **

**So what? I dream what you want me to? You can make me see what you want me to see?**

Emile stared across the room in silence, wondering what was wrong with her. She didn’t need to wonder, she already knew the problem. She was a horcrux.

Emile didn’t have her first class with Dolores Umbridge till Wednesday, and she couldn’t say it was worth the wait. After a fascinating class where Snape explained the long procedure of brewing felix felicis, walking into the Defense Against the Dark Arts room was extremely dull.

**_I’m warning you, Umbridge is both the dullest and the most ruthless woman in the Ministry. She’d do anything to please the minister: even harm kids._ **

**No one’s going to hurt the students of Hogwarts while Dumbledore’s around.**

When they entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teacher’s desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head.

The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew yet how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be.

“Well, good afternoon!” she said when finally the whole class had sat down.

A few people mumbled “Good afternoon,” in reply.

“Tut, tut,” said Professor Umbridge. “That won’t do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply ‘Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge.’ One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!”

“Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge,” they chanted back at her.

“There, now,” said Professor Umbridge sweetly. “That wasn’t too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please.”

Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order “wands away” had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting.

Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:

Defense Against the Dark Arts: A Return to Basic Principles.

“Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn’t it?” stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. “The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your N.E.W.T. year.”

“You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory centered, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please.”

She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by:

Course aims:

1.Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.

2.Learning to recognize situations in which defensive magic can legally be used.

3.Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge’s three course aims she said, “Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?”

There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.

“I think we’ll try that again,” said Professor Umbridge. “When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply ‘Yes, Professor Umbridge,’ or ‘No, Professor Umbridge.’ So, has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?”

“Yes, Professor Umbridge,” rang through the room.

Fred and George were giving Emile really odd looks, while Nathan scribbled furiously on a roll of parchment.

“Good,” said Professor Umbridge. “I should like you to turn to page five and read chapter one, ‘Basics for Beginners.’ There will be no need to talk.”

Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher’s desk, observing them all with those pouchy toad’s eyes. Emile turned to page five of her copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read.

After a dull and uneventful class, Emile found herself sitting in the courtyard with the twins, Nathan, and Lee. She was enjoying the weak sunlight and the others were talking about the class they had just attended.

“If all of term is going to be like this I’m going to leave,” Fred groaned from across the circle.

“We aren’t going to learn how to use the spells, how are we supposed to pass?” Nathan fretted as he looked over his notes.

“Calm down, Nat. We can practice on our own,” Lee smirked from next to Fred.

“Nat?” Emile looked at the boys, confused.

“It’s his new nickname,” Lee explain as Nathan began to grumble.

“It’s a terrible nickname, Nathan sounds more refined. Nat sounds too much like Gnat,” Nathan frowned and rolled up his parchment.

“Just don’t respond when they say Nat,” Emile tried to console her new friend as they walked back to the common room together.

“It’s hard not to,” Nathan grumbled with a dark look at the twins and Lee, who were attempting to sell some extendable ears to a group of first years.

That evening Emile went out onto the Quidditch field at sunset to practice for the first time in two years. They were holding keeper tryouts on Friday and Angelina was encouraging her to tryout to be an official member of the team.

Emile got out Quaffle and threw it around, dashing after it. Practicing by yourself was awful.

**How did Oliver manage to practice on his own?**

**_How would I know? When I was alive I thought Quidditch was stupid, and I still do._ **

Emile missed the quaffle and accidentally hit it with the handle of her broom, sending it flying in the direction of the school. It landed with a thunk in a clump of bushes along the trail, and a loud groan came from them.

“I’m very sorry!” Emile jumped off of her broom and ran to the bushes, helping a redhead stand up. “Ron?”

 

“Alright you caught me,” he huffed, crossing his arms.

“I didn’t catch you doing anything, I have no idea what you were doing,” Emile stared at the youngest male Weasley. “What were you doing?”

“Well…” Ron gave her a nervous glance. “I was thinking about trying out for keeper, now that I’ve got a decent broom and all. But if you want to do it instead that’s fine too.”

“Ron you should totally try! We can practice together, come on. Grab the Quaffle.” Emile grinned at him. Perhaps this was the answer she had been waiting for.

For the remainder of the week the two of them met up on the field at sunset to practice. First they would practice passing the Quaffle back and forth, and then they would take turns guarding the goalposts while the other scored.

They didn’t tell anyone, mainly because Ron was nervous about what his brothers would say.

“I can just hear Fred now, “Ickle Ronnie-kins, Prefect and Quidditch keeper,”” he said as they headed back to the school one night.

“Come one, they aren’t that bad,” Emile shoved him in the side.

“You haven’t lived with them since birth,” Ron rolled his eyes.

“Ron?”

Emile and Ron turned as Harry came up the stairs behind them.

“What are you doing?” Harry looked from Emile to Ron, and back again.

“Er — nothing. What are you doing?” Ron said, getting defensive.

Emile put her face in her hands.

**He’s so bad at lying, poor bloke can’t keep anything low key.**

**_Yeah, he could learn a few things from you._ **

**What exactly is that supposed to mean?**

Harry frowned at them. “Come on, you can tell me! What are you hiding here for?”

“I’m — I’m hiding from Fred and George, if you must know,” said Ron. “They just went past with a bunch of first years, I bet they’re testing stuff on them again, I mean, they can’t do it in the common room now, can they, not with Hermione there.”

“But what have you got your broom for, you haven’t been flying, have you?” Harry asked.

“I — well — well, okay, I’ll tell you, but don’t laugh, all right?” Ron said defensively, turning redder with every second. “I-I thought I’d try out for Gryffindor Keeper now I’ve got a decent broom. There. Go on. Laugh.”

“I’m not laughing,” said Harry. Ron blinked. “It’s a brilliant idea! It’d be really cool if you got on the team! I’ve never seen you play Keeper, are you good?”

“He’s great!” Emile said earnestly, before whispering to Ron, “I told you he wouldn’t be mad.”

“I’m not bad,” said Ron, who looked immensely relieved at Harry’s reaction. “Charlie, Fred, and George always made me Keep for them when they were training during the holidays.”

“So you’ve been practicing tonight?”

“Every evening since Tuesday . . .”

Emile walked away, leaving the boys to talk about Quidditch.

At keeper tryouts the next day Emile waited on the sidelines with the twins and Nathan, who wasn’t trying out but still wanted to watch.

Whoever was defending the goalposts now was doing a very poor job indeed. Katie Bell scored twice in the few seconds the first person tried. The third person to try out was pretty good, the fourth was terrible, the fifth dodged a Bludger exceptionally well but then fumbled an easy save. Emile was sixth, and though she managed to block each goal Fred hit her with a bludger and she nearly fell of her broom.

“I’m real sorry, Em,” Fred said for the fifth time as they sat to watch the last person.

“I’m going to have a bruise on my back the size of Great Britain,” Emile groaned as she sat down on the stands to watch the last person.

“Let me give you a massage,” Nathan said as he began to rub her back.

The twins went to hit bludgers at the seventh tryout, who happened to be Ron. He did a pretty good job, considering how nervous he had been earlier that day.

“Emile,” Angelina sat down next to her, gasping. “It’s either you or Ron.”

“Choose Ron,” Emile said quickly. “I can be reserve, it’s N.E.W.T. year and I don’t mind too much.”

“Oh, al-alright,” Angelina said, grinning. “I’ll go let him and the team know.”

“You turned down being keeper, for Ron?” Nathan stared at her curiously as they headed back up to the castle.

“Poor bloke needs a bit more self esteem,” Emile said with a small smile.”It can’t be easy being best friends with the boy who lived and the smartest witch in their year.”

Fred and George threw a party that evening. Emile sat by the fire and drank butterbeer, her back hurting too much for her to move very far. Nathan sat with her and fetched her a treat every now and then. Angelina came over for a few minutes, discussing her plans for the team with Emile, who had no choice but to listen.

“He’s not fabulous,” she said bluntly, with a glance at Ron, who was welcoming Harry ack from detention. “I think with a bit of training he’ll be all right, though. He comes from a family of good Quidditch players. I’m banking on him turning out to have a bit more talent than he showed today, to be honest. Vicky Frobisher and Geoffrey Hooper both flew better this evening, but Hooper’s a real whiner, he’s always moaning about something or other, and Vicky’s involved in all sorts of societies, she admitted herself that if training clashed with her Charm Club she’d put Charms first. Anyway, we’re having a practice session at two o’clock tomorrow, so just make sure you’re there on time.”

“Brilliant, though I’m not sure how well I can fly with this bruise,” Emile groaned as she tried to lean forward.

“Right, damn,” Angelina twiddled her fingers nervously. “Well you get better, and I’m going to have a word with Fred about being a bit nicer during tryouts.”

**_This party’s a bore._ **

**You’re a bore.**

**_In Slytherin we at least play spin the bottle._ **

**We did that once, didn’t end too well.**

**_Yeah I saw. I think it was just an over reaction. You guys need to be close in order to have a fun game of spin the bottle, so close that you would never date each other._ **

**Since when are you a friendship expert?**

**_I’m full of all kinds of knowledge._ **

When the small celebration finally ended Angelina helped Emile up to her room for a good nights sleep.

The next morning Emile’s entire right side was stained purple and green. She could hardly get out of bed, her muscles were so sore. But she managed eventually. By the time she had woken up most of the others had gone down to breakfast, so Emile clambered down to the great hall in her flannel pajama bottoms and tank top.

“Good morning,” she wheezed when she finally arrived, sitting down on the bench with great difficulty.

“Blimey Em, I’ll take you to Madame Pomfrey after breakfast, I swear,” Fred said as he stared at her visible purple shoulder.

“Any chance you can put some toast and bacon onto my plate?” She managed to wheeze to George, who obliged.

Unable to use a fork and knife, Emile hastily ate the bacon with her hands. George helped her spread butter and cream cheese onto her toast, so she didn’t have to eat it dry.

“Come on you,” Fred picked Emile up and carried her out of the hall as she ate the toast.

In the hospital wing he got a lecture from Madame Pomfrey before being sent away so that the nurse could get a look at the entirety of the bruise.

“You’ll have to stay here today, and no Quidditch for the rest of the week,” She huffed as she gave Emile a potion.

When Emile awoke later that day George was standing in front of her with a plate of food and the Daily Prophet.

“Dinner and tears,” He said as he handed her the plate of mashed potatoes, peas, and ham.

“What are the tears for?” Emile said as she picked up the fork, glad that her arm was free of pain.

“ ‘The Ministry of Magic has received a tip-off from a reliable source that Sirius Black, notorious mass murderer . . . blah blah blah . . . is currently hiding in London,’ ” George looked up at Emile as she mumbled something. “Pardon?”

“Who would do that? Reliable source, I bet it was a death eater,” Emile took another bite of food.

“And even more good news,” George said with a sigh. “ ‘Sturgis Podmore, 38, of number two, Laburnum Gardens, Clapham, has appeared in front of the Wizengamot charged with trespass and attempted robbery at the Ministry of Magic on 31st August. Podmore was arrested by Ministry of Magic watchwizard Eric Munch, who found him attempting to force his way through a top-security door at one o’clock in the morning. Podmore, who refused to speak in his own defense, was convicted on both charges and sentenced to six months in Azkaban.’ “

“Wasn’t that the bloke Mad Eye was complaining about?” Emile looked at George as she sat up in her bed.

“Yeah he was supposed to see us off but never showed up,” Fred came over with several helpings of treacle pudding, distributing the bowls between the three of them.

“Mad Eye also said he never returned his invisibility cloak,” George said as Emile finished eating and sat up in bed.

“Blimey,” was all she said as she got up and stretched. “So how was Quidditch practice?”

“You aren’t the least bit concerned?” Fred frowned.

“If he’s in Azkaban then there’s nothing we can do,” Emile grunted as they went down the hall.

“Is that you talking, or Barty?” Fred frowned at her.

**_Do not call me Barty._ **

“Of course it’s me, it’s what I think!” Emile said with a frown.

“Sorry, sorry. It just seemed a bit out of character, that’s all,” Fred shrugged.

“You’re an arse, Fred Weasley,” Emile snapped and stomped up to her room.


	45. The Hogs Head

“Blimey,” Angelina’s jaw dropped Monday morning as she scanned over the Daily Prophet. “Get a load of this!”

“MINISTRY SEEKS EDUCATIONAL REFORM DOLORES UMBRIDGE APPOINTED FIRST-EVER “HIGH INQUISITOR” Angelina read aloud as the seventh years stared at her.

“Give me that,” Emile took the paper from Angelina and stared at it, Nathan looking over her shoulder.

“ ‘High Inquisitor’?” said George darkly, his half-eaten bit of toast slipping from his fingers. “What does that mean?” 

Emile read aloud: “In a surprise move last night, the Ministry of Magic passed new legislation giving itself an unprecedented level of control at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.” 

“ ‘The Minister has been growing uneasy about goings-on at Hogwarts for some time,’ said Junior Assistant to the Minister, Percy Weasley. ‘He is now responding to concerns voiced by anxious parents, who feel the school may be moving in a direction they do not approve.’ “This is not the first time in recent weeks Fudge has used new laws to effect improvements at the Wizarding school. As recently as August 30th Educational Decree Twenty-two was passed, to ensure that, in the event of the current headmaster being unable to provide a candidate for a teaching post, the Ministry should select an appropriate person.” 

“ ‘That’s how Dolores Umbridge came to be appointed to the teaching staff at Hogwarts,’ said Weasley last night. ‘Dumbledore couldn’t find anyone, so the Minister put in Umbridge and of course, she’s been an immediate success —’ ” 

“She’s been a WHAT?” said Fred loudly. 

“Wait, there’s more,” said Emile grimly. “ ‘— an immediate success, totally revolutionizing the teaching of Defense Against the Dark Arts and providing the Minister with on-the-ground feedback about what’s really happening at Hogwarts.’ It is this last function that the Ministry has now formalized with the passing of Educational Decree Twenty-three, which creates the new position of ‘Hogwarts High Inquisitor.

“ ‘This is an exciting new phase in the Minister’s plan to get to grips with what some are calling the “falling standards” at Hogwarts,’ said Weasley. ‘The Inquisitor will have powers to inspect her fellow educators and make sure that they are coming up to scratch. Professor Umbridge has been offered this position in addition to her own teaching post, and we are delighted to say that she has accepted.’ 

“The Ministry’s new moves have received enthusiastic support from parents of students at Hogwarts. ‘I feel much easier in my mind now that I know that Dumbledore is being subjected to fair and objective evaluation,’ said Mr. Lucius Malfoy, 41, speaking from his Wiltshire mansion last night. ‘Many of us with our children’s best interests at heart have been concerned about some of Dumbledore’s eccentric decisions in the last few years and will be glad to know that the Ministry is keeping an eye on the situation.’ ”

Emile let out a cough and Nathan took the paper from her, reading the rest of the article aloud.

**This is ridiculous.**

**_She’s always been power hungry, my mother used to say that Umbridge would kill her own family to please the minister._ **

**Blimey, that’s pretty dark.**

**_Not as dark as what she probably plans to do to the school._ **

“Among those ‘eccentric decisions’ are undoubtedly the controversial staff appointments previously described in this newspaper, which have included the hiring of werewolf Remus Lupin, half giant Rubeus Hagrid, and delusional ex-Auror ‘Mad-Eye’ Moody. Rumors abound, of course, that Albus Dumbledore, once Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, is no longer up to the task of managing the prestigious school of Hogwarts.

“ ‘I think the appointment of the Inquisitor is a first step toward ensuring that Hogwarts has a headmaster in whom we can all repose confidence,’ said a Ministry insider last night. ‘Wizengamot elders Griselda Marchbanks and Tiberius Ogden have resigned in protest at the introduction of the post of Inquisitor to Hogwarts. ‘Hogwarts is a school, not an outpost of Cornelius Fudge’s office,’ said Madam Marchbanks. ‘This is a further disgusting attempt to discredit Albus Dumbledore.’ (For a full account of Madam Marchbanks’ alleged links to subversive goblin groups, turn to page 17).” 

“Oh I can’t wait for good old McGonagall to get inspected,” Fred said giddily. “She’ll give Umbridge a piece of her mind.”

“Careful, we don’t want McGonagall fired,” Nathan warned as he handed the paper back to Angelina.

“Come on Nat, lighten up,” Lee laughed and grabbed a piece of toast.

“Don’t call me Nat,” Nathan groaned and stood up to leave, Emile following.

That morning, Umbridge came to inspect Professor Flitwick in his Charms class. He treated her like a guest, she didn’t seem to bother him at all. Umbridge just lurked in the corner making notes on a clipboard. She didn’t say much. Asked Alicia a couple of questions about what the classes are normally like, Alicia told her they were really good.

**That was too easy.**

**_She doesn’t have anything against him. The Ministry is more concerned about the teachers who are fiercely loyal to Dumbledore and have a powerful influence. He’s too short to be of any use._ **

**I doubt that’s true.**

“I can’t see old Flitwick getting marked down,” said George, “he usually gets everyone through their exams all right.” 

“Right,” Emile nodded. “I doubt she has anything against him teaching.”

The first Hogsmeade weekend was coming up. First weekend of October.

“The weekends get a bit boring after so many years of going to them,” Emile said to Nathan one day as they sat studying in the space in the library. “But you’re here, we could show you around. That’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know, there’s still a lot of homework I’ve got to finish,” Nathan said hesitantly.

“Oh no you don’t,” George said as he sat down next to him.

“Everyone needs to experience Hogsmeade,” Fred sat down on the other side of Nathan.

“Especially if you don’t have a date, that’s when you go with friends,” George said with a grin at Emile.

“I don’t want to have to watch her and her date,” Nathan muttered to Fred and George.

“What?” Emile leaned over. “You can trust me with secrets, you know.”

“He likes the Ravenclaw head girl,” Fred said with an eye roll.

“But she’s going out with the Hufflepuff Head Boy,” George finished quietly.

“Nathan you’ve been here not even a month,” Emile turned to him. “Take some advice and befriend someone before you date them. Girls like boys they consider good friends.”

“This is great advice,” Fred said with a wink at Emile. “Now we can narrow your crushes down. Keep giving us hints, Em.”

Emile punched Fred in the arm.

“Fred! George! Emile!” Urgent whispers came from inside the library.

“It’s Hermione,” Fred whispered as he peaked outside.

“I’ll go talk to her,” Emile said as she left the space.

“There you are, can you pass a message onto the twins?” Hermione ran up to Emile and spoke in a hushed voice.

“Sure,” Emile sat down at one of the tables.

“We’re having a meeting at Noon at the Hog’s Head this Hogsmeade weekend. Everyone interested in joining a group to learn Defense Against the Dark Arts from Harry is invited, but keep it on the down low. We don’t want her to get suspicious.”

**_Wow, I can’t believe this. You’re going to encourage young children to break rules._ **

**Well it’s for a good cause. And she’s right, what Umbridge teaches is rubbish.**

**_Be careful._ **

“Wow, alright then,” Emile stared at Hermione as she ran off again before going back into the hiding spot and passing on the message.

That weekend Emile woke up at nine am, meeting the twins, Lee, and Nathan in the common room before heading down to breakfast and then Hogsmeade together. Nathan found Zonko’s fascinating, and they spent nearly an hour inside the shop before Emile dragged them to Honeydukes. After stocking up on sweets, they headed over to the Hogs Head.

“You guys took so long, I’ll be shocked if we aren’t the last to arrive,” Emile scowled as they entered the dingy pub.

“I bet the bartender would get me firewhiskey if I asked,” Lee said with a grin as he looked around the dirty room, one side of it crowded with hogwarts students, some familiar and some not.

**_I like this guy, Lee. Get him some firewhiskey, heck, all of you get firewhiskey. You’re of age, act like it._ **

**Barty, you’re hopeless.**

**_Don’t call me Barty._ **

“Hi,” said Fred, reaching the bar first and counting his companions quickly. “Could we have . . . twenty-seven butterbeers, please?” 

The barman glared at him for a moment, then, throwing down his rag irritably as though he had been interrupted in something very important, he started passing up dusty butterbeers from under the bar. 

“Cheers,” said Fred, handing them out. “Cough up, everyone, I haven’t got enough gold for all of these. . . .” 

Once everyone had pulled up a chair around Harry and Hermione the chatter began to die down.

“Er,” said Hermione, her voice slightly higher than usual out of nerves. “Well — er — hi.” 

The group focused its attention on her.

“Well . . . erm . . . well, you know why you’re here. Erm . . . well, Harry here had the idea — I mean” — Harry had thrown her a sharp look — “I had the idea — that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts — and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us” — (Hermione’s voice became suddenly much stronger and more confident) — “because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts” — “Hear, hear,” said Anthony Goldstein, and Hermione looked heartened — “well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands.” 

She paused, looked sideways at Harry, and went on, “And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but the real spells —” 

“You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?” said Michael Corner. 

“Of course I do,” said Hermione at once. “But I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because . . . because . . .” She took a great breath and finished, “Because Lord Voldemort’s back.” 

The reaction was immediate and predictable. Cho’s friend shrieked and slopped butterbeer down herself, Terry Boot gave a kind of involuntary twitch, Padma Patil shuddered, and Neville gave an odd yelp that he managed to turn into a cough. All of them, however, looked fixedly, even eagerly, at Harry. 

“Well . . . that’s the plan anyway,” said Hermione. “If you want to join us, we need to decide how we’re going to —” 

“Where’s the proof You-Know-Who’s back?” said the blond Hufflepuff player in a rather aggressive voice. 

“Well, Dumbledore believes it —” Hermione began. 

“You mean, Dumbledore believes him,” said the blond boy, nodding at Harry. 

“Who are you?” said Ron rather rudely. 

“Zacharias Smith,” said the boy, “and I think we’ve got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who’s back.” 

“Look,” said Hermione, intervening swiftly, “that’s really not what this meeting was supposed to be about —” 

“It’s okay, Hermione,” said Harry. 

**_Yeah Harry, tell them. Tell them the Dark Lord has returned._ **

**Shut up, I’m going to block you out.**

“What makes me say You-Know-Who’s back?” Harry asked, looking Zacharias straight in the face. “I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn’t believe him, you don’t believe me, and I’m not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone.”

Zacharias said dismissively, “All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory’s body back to Hogwarts. He didn’t give us details, he didn’t tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we’d all like to know —” 

“If you’ve come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can’t help you,” Harry said. His temper, always so close to the surface these days, was rising again. He did not take his eyes from Zacharias Smith’s aggressive face. “I don’t want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that’s what you’re here for, you might as well clear out.” 

“Yeah, I bet you don’t want to talk about Cedric either,” Fred muttered into Emile’s ear.

“Ever heard of a thing called sympathy, Fred?” Emile whispered as she turned to him. “It means knowing when to keep your mouth shut.”

Fred laughed and looked back up at Harry and Hermione.

“So,” said Hermione, her voice very high-pitched again. “So . . . like I was saying . . . if you want to learn some defense, then we need to work out how we’re going to do it, how often we’re going to meet, and where we’re going to —” 

“Is it true,” interrupted the girl with the long plait down her back, looking at Harry, “that you can produce a Patronus?” 

There was a murmur of interest around the group at this. 

“Yeah,” said Harry slightly defensively. 

“A corporeal Patronus?” 

“Er — you don’t know Madam Bones, do you?” he asked. 

The girl smiled. “She’s my auntie,” she said. “I’m Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So — is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?” 

“Yes,” said Harry. 

“Blimey, Harry!” said Lee, looking deeply impressed. “I never knew that!” 

“Mum told Ron not to spread it around,” said Fred, grinning at Harry. “She said you got enough attention as it was.” 

“She’s not wrong,” mumbled Harry and a couple of people laughed.

“And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore’s office?” demanded Terry Boot. “That’s what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year. . . .”

“Er — yeah, I did, yeah,” said Harry. Justin Finch-Fletchley whistled, the Creevey brothers exchanged awestruck looks, and Lavender Brown said “wow” softly.

“And in our first year,” said Neville to the group at large, “he saved that Sorcerous Stone —” 

“Sorcerer’s,” hissed Hermione. 

“Yes, that, from You-Know-Who,” finished Neville. 

Hannah Abbott’s eyes were as round as Galleons.

“And that’s not to mention,” said Cho, “all the tasks he had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year — getting past dragons and merpeople and acromantulas and things. . . .” 

There was a murmur of impressed agreement around the table. 

**_Oh no, she likes him._ **

**How can you tell, Mister ‘I didn’t have any friends’?**

**_Just because I didn’t talk to anyone doesn’t mean I can’t relate._ **

“Look,” he said and everyone fell silent at once, “I . . . I don’t want to sound like I’m trying to be modest or anything, but . . . I had a lot of help with all that stuff. . . .” 

“Not with the dragon, you didn’t,” said Michael Corner at once. “That was a seriously cool bit of flying. . . .” 

“Yeah, well —” said Harry. 

“And nobody helped you get rid of those dementors this summer,” said Susan Bones. 

“No,” said Harry, “no, okay, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I’m trying to make is —” 

“Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?” said Zacharias Smith. 

“Here’s an idea,” said Ron loudly, before Harry could speak, “why don’t you shut your mouth?”

“He doesn’t like that word, weasel. He’s been teased a lot,” George whispered to Emile.

“Poor Ron,” She whispered back sadly.

“Well, we’ve all turned up to learn from him, and now he’s telling us he can’t really do any of it,” he said. 

“That’s not what he said,” snarled Fred Weasley. 

“Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?” inquired George, pulling a long and lethal-looking metal instrument from inside one of the Zonko’s bags. 

“Or any part of your body, really, we’re not fussy where we stick this,” said Fred. 

“Yes, well,” said Hermione hastily, “moving on . . . the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry?” 

There was a murmur of general agreement. Zacharias folded his arms and said nothing, though perhaps this was because he was too busy keeping an eye on the instrument in George’s hand. 

“Right,” said Hermione, looking relieved that something had at last been settled. “Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don’t think there’s any point in meeting less than once a week —” 

“Hang on,” said Angelina, “we need to make sure this doesn’t clash with our Quidditch practice.” 

“No,” said Cho, “nor with ours.” 

“Nor ours,” added Zacharias Smith. 

“I’m sure we can find a night that suits everyone,” said Hermione, slightly impatiently, “but you know, this is rather important, we’re talking about learning to defend ourselves against V-Voldemort’s Death Eaters —” 

“Well said!” barked Ernie Macmillan, whom Harry had been expecting to speak long before this. “Personally I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we’ll do this year, even with our O.W.L.s coming up!” 

“He looks like he expects us to tear up at that speech,” Nathan grunted next to Emile.

When nobody spoke, he went on, “I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher upon us at this critical period. Obviously they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells —” 

“We think the reason Umbridge doesn’t want us trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts,” said Hermione, “is that she’s got some . . . some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he’d mobilize us against the Ministry.” 

Nearly everybody looked stunned at this news; everybody except Luna Lovegood, who piped up, “Well, that makes sense. After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army.” 

“What?” said Harry, completely thrown by this unexpected piece of information. 

“Yes, he’s got an army of heliopaths,” said Luna solemnly. 

“No, he hasn’t,” snapped Hermione. 

“Yes, he has,” said Luna. 

“What are heliopaths?” asked Neville, looking blank. 

“They’re spirits of fire,” said Luna, her protuberant eyes widening so that she looked madder than ever. “Great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of —” 

“They don’t exist, Neville,” said Hermione tartly. 

“Oh yes they do!” said Luna angrily. 

“I’m sorry, but where’s the proof of that?” snapped Hermione. 

“There are plenty of eyewitness accounts, just because you’re so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you —” 

“Hem, hem,” said Ginny in such a good imitation of Professor Umbridge that several people looked around in alarm and then laughed. “Weren’t we trying to decide how often we’re going to meet and get Defense lessons?” 

“Yes,” said Hermione at once, “yes, we were, you’re right. . . .” 

“Well, once a week sounds cool,” said Lee. 

“As long as —” began Angelina. 

“Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch,” said Hermione in a tense voice. 

“Well, the other thing to decide is where we’re going to meet. . . .” 

This was rather more difficult; the whole group fell silent. 

“Library?” suggested Katie Bell after a few moments. 

“I can’t see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library,” said Harry. 

“Maybe an unused classroom?” said Dean. “Yeah,” said Ron, “McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practicing for the Triwizard. . . .”

Emile snorted. “There’s a difference between training for a competition and going behind a member of the ministry’s back.”

“Right, well, we’ll try to find somewhere,” said Hermione. “We’ll send a message round to everybody when we’ve got a time and a place for the first meeting.” 

She rummaged in her bag and produced parchment and a quill, then hesitated, rather as though she was steeling herself to say something. 

“I-I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think,” she took a deep breath, “that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we’re doing. So if you sign, you’re agreeing not to tell Umbridge — or anybody else — what we’re up to.”

Fred reached out for the parchment and cheerfully put down his signature, but Emile noticed at once that several people looked less than happy at the prospect of putting their names on the list. 

“Er . . .” said Zacharias slowly, not taking the parchment that George was trying to pass him. “Well . . . I’m sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is.” 

But Ernie was looking rather hesitant about signing too. Hermione raised her eyebrows at him. 

“I — well, we are prefects,” Ernie burst out. “And if this list was found . . . well, I mean to say . . . you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out . . .” 

“You just said this group was the most important thing you’d do this year,” Harry reminded him. 

“I — yes,” said Ernie, “yes, I do believe that, it’s just . . .” 

“Ernie, do you really think I’d leave that list lying around?” said Hermione testily. 

“No. No, of course not,” said Ernie, looking slightly less anxious. “I — yes, of course I’ll sign.”

“Well, time’s ticking on,” said Fred briskly, getting to his feet. “George, Lee, and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we’ll be seeing you all later.” 

Emile and Nathan followed them outside.

“We’ve got a few more things to get at Tomes and Scrolls, we’ll see you back at the castle,” Nathan said as he led Emile away out of the dark alley.

“Good, I need a few more quills and I’m running low on ink,” Emile said as they walked into the store, breathing in the smell of books.

“So what did you think of that?” Nathan asked as they searched for their items.

“I think it’s a good idea, what do you think?”

Nathan hesitated. “As long as we don’t get caught, it’s brilliant.”

“It’s kind of exhilarating, isn’t it? Breaking the rules?” Emile grinned at Nathan.

“Watch it, Head Girl,” he laughed.


	46. Fight the System

The following Monday, Emile overslept and hurriedly pulled on her robes as a screeching noise filled the stairs outside.

“What was that?” Angelina stared towards the door, scared to open it.

“It means we get to slide down to the common room,” Emile said with a grin, grabbing her bookbag and slipping onto the smooth corridor where the stairs had once been.

“Ooh, who tried to get upstairs?” she laughed when she slid out of the stairwell, catching sight of two shaken up fifth years.

“Me. I didn’t realize it would happen,” Ron blushed before turning to Harry. “That’s not fair! Hermione comes into our dorm all the time!”

“Well it’s an old fashioned rule,” Hermione slid down the stairs at the moment Emile walked away to the notice board.

— by order of — 

The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts 

All Student Organizations, Societies, Teams, Groups, and Clubs are henceforth disbanded. An Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club is hereby defined as a regular meeting of three or more students. Permission to re-form may be sought from the High Inquisitor (Professor Umbridge). 

No Student Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club may exist without the knowledge and approval of the High Inquisitor. Any student found to have formed, or to belong to, an Organization, Society, Team, Group, or Club that has not been approved by the High Inquisitor will be expelled. 

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-four. 

Signed: 

Dolores Umbridge

High Inquisitor 

“She knows,” Emile muttered to no one in particular before heading down to breakfast. 

**_Of course she knows, the Hogs Head was the worst spot to meet._ **

**It was less crowded---**

**_And therefore less noisy. Everyone could listen in on what you were saying. You might as well scream it from the rooftop of the school._ **

In the Great Hall the people who had attended the meeting kept trying to make contact with Hermione, but she chased them away.

“Did you see it?” 

“D’you reckon she knows?” 

“What are we going to do?” 

They were all looking at Harry. He glanced around to make sure there were no teachers near them. 

“We’re going to do it anyway, of course,” he said quietly. 

“Knew you’d say that,” said George, beaming and thumping Harry on the arm. 

“The prefects as well?” said Fred, looking quizzically at Ron and Hermione. 

“Of course,” said Hermione coolly. 

“Here comes Ernie and Hannah Abbott,” said Ron, looking over his shoulder. “And those Ravenclaw blokes and Smith . . . and no one looks very spotty.” 

Hermione looked alarmed. 

“Never mind spots, the idiots can’t come over here now, it’ll look really suspicious — sit down!” she mouthed to Ernie and Hannah, gesturing frantically to them to rejoin the Hufflepuff table. “Later! We’ll — talk — to — you — later!” 

“I’ll tell Michael,” said Ginny impatiently, swinging herself off her bench. “The fool, honestly . . .”

“She’s not including Quidditch in this, is she?” Emile asked George nervously.

“That old bat!” Angelina sat down next to Emile as put her face into her empty plate.

“Yeah, I think she is,” George frowned at Angelina as Emile sat her up.

“You’ve gotta tell the team,” Emile said to her anxious friend.

“Yeah, I probably should.” She stood up with a sigh and hurried after Harry.

“Cheer up Em, we’re going to be advertising our Skiving Snackboxes tonight,” Fred grinned.

“What are you two planning?” She asked suspiciously. Several hours later she found out.

First, Fred would take a bite out of the orange end of a chew, at which he would vomit spectacularly into a bucket they had placed in front of them. Then he would force down the purple end of the chew, at which the vomiting would immediately cease. Lee Jordan, who was assisting the demonstration, was lazily vanishing the vomit at regular intervals. With the regular sounds of retching and cheering Fred and George were taking advance orders from the crowd.

**They’re brilliant.**

**_It’s so stupid, how could anyone buy these?_ **

**You’re just jealous.**

**_Sure. Whatever you say._ **

Emile stayed up till midnight helping the twins count their money, which turned out to be a good twenty-six galleons.

“If we make this much money with just the Gryffindors just imagine how much we’ll make when we get our own shop,” Fred gawked as they put the money away.

“We’ll be rich,” George laughed and tossed the money bag into the air. The bag split open and galleons tumbled out, hitting them on their heads.

“I’ve got a cut on my head the size of a blast ended skrewt,” Lee groaned as he sat up, blood pouring down his face.

“You ought to go to Madame Pomfrey’s. Tell her you were going to bed and you slipped and hit your head on the bed frame,” Emile said to Lee, helping him up and leading him to the door. 

“You go to bed, you look like you’re going to fall asleep on your feet,” he grinned at her before exiting the portrait hole, one hand covering his bleeding forehead.

“Go on Em, George will clean up,” Fred called from where he was going up the stairs with Nathan.

“You’re just going to leave me?” George groaned as he gathered up the scattered coins.

“You’re the one who caused this mess,” Nathan laughed.

“Whatever, Nat,” George groaned as he shoved handfuls of coins into the repaired money bag.

“Don’t call me Gnat, I’m not an insect!” Nat snapped and stomped up the stairs.

“Why, is it BUGGING YOU?!” George yelled after his dorm mate.

**_Oh, that was funny! It was a terrible pun, but that’s why it’s brilliant!_ **

“Oh, grow up, George,” Emile snapped and headed off to her own warm bed.

That Thursday Angelina came running into the common room, brimming with excitement.

“I’ve gotten permission to reform the Quidditch team!” She said as she spun Emile in a circle and pecked Fred on the cheek.

“Blimey,” he mumbled, his face turning red.

“So Umbridge was the one who gave you permission?” Emile asked as she linked arms with her friend.

“Yeah,” said Angelina, beaming. “I went to McGonagall and I think she might have appealed to Dumbledore — anyway, Umbridge had to give in. Ha! So I want you down at the pitch at seven o’clock tonight, all right, because we’ve got to make up time, you realize we’re only three weeks away from our first match?” 

“Three weeks is enough time to get into shape,” Emile grinned.

“Not if this weather doesn’t clear up,” George said with a groan.

By that evening, the twins were seriously considering using an item from their skiving snackboxes to get out of practice.

“— but I bet she’d know what we’d done,” Fred said out of the corner of his mouth. “If only I hadn’t offered to sell her some Puking Pastilles yesterday —” 

“We could try the Fever Fudge,” George muttered, “no one’s seen that yet —” 

“Does it work?” inquired Ron hopefully, as the hammering of rain on the roof intensified and wind howled around the building. 

“Well, yeah,” said Fred, “your temperature’ll go right up —” 

“— but you get these massive pus-filled boils too,” said George, “and we haven’t worked out how to get rid of them yet.” 

“I can’t see any boils,” said Ron, staring at the twins. 

“No, well, you wouldn’t,” said Fred darkly, “they’re not in a place we generally display to the public —” 

“— but they make sitting on a broom a right pain in the —” 

“All right, everyone, listen up,” said Angelina loudly, emerging from the Captain’s office. “I know it’s not ideal weather, but there’s a good chance we’ll be playing Slytherin in conditions like this so it’s a good idea to work out how we’re going to cope with them. Harry, didn’t you do something to your glasses to stop the rain fogging them up when we played Hufflepuff in that storm?” 

“Hermione did it,” said Harry. He pulled out his wand, tapped his glasses and said, “Impervius!” 

“I think we all ought to try that,” said Angelina. “If we could just keep the rain off our faces it would really help visibility — all together, come on — Impervius! Okay. Let’s go.” 

They squelched through the deepening mud to the middle of the pitch; visibility was still very poor even with the Impervius Charm; light was fading fast and curtains of rain were sweeping the grounds. 

“All right, on my whistle,” shouted Angelina. 

Emile kicked off from the ground, spraying mud in all directions, and shot upward, the wind pulling her slightly off course. She had no idea how she was going to see the Snitch in this weather; she was having enough difficulty seeing the one Bludger with which they were practicing; a minute into the practice it almost unseated her and she had to use the Sloth Grip Roll to avoid it. 

Unfortunately Angelina did not see this; in fact, she did not appear to be able to see anything; none of them had a clue what the others were doing. The wind was picking up; even at a distance Emile could hear the swishing, pounding sounds of the rain pummeling the surface of the lake. 

Angelina kept them at it for nearly an hour before conceding defeat. She led her sodden and disgruntled team back into the changing rooms, insisting that the practice had not been a waste of time, though without any real conviction in her voice. Fred and George were looking particularly annoyed; both were bandy-legged and winced with every movement. 

“I think a few of mine have ruptured,” said Fred in a hollow voice. 

“Mine haven’t,” said George, wincing. “They’re throbbing like mad . . . feel bigger if anything . . .” 

“Could you take this conversation somewhere a bit more private?” Emile said with a groan.

“It’s nasty,” Alicia gagged as George let out a small yelp of pain.

“It’s nature’s desire,” Fred said with a groan and disappeared up the stairs to his room.

**_Nature has a lot of odd desires._ **

**Like?**

**_Like how bird’s barf into each others mouths to finish their courtship ritual._ **

**Oh, sick.**

The next evening Emile was dragged to the seventh floor by Fred and George.

“What’s going on?” She asked for the seventh time.

“Ron told us to meet us on the seventh floor,” Fred gasped as he turned the corner.

“They said they found a place for the Defense Against the Dark Arts room,” George finished.

“Of course, the Room of Requirement,” Emile whispered as they stopped in front of a tall ornate door that hadn’t been there before.

Emile reached out, seized the brass handle, pulled open the door, and led the way into a spacious room lit with flickering torches like those that illuminated the dungeons eight floors below. The walls were lined with wooden bookcases, and instead of chairs there were large silk cushions on the floor. A set of shelves at the far end of the room carried a range of instruments such as Sneakoscopes, Secrecy Sensors, and a large, cracked Foe-Glass that Emile was sure had hung, the previous year, in Barty’s office. 

“Well,” said Harry, slightly nervously. “This is the place we’ve found for practices, and you’ve — er — obviously found it okay —” 

“It’s fantastic!” said Cho, and several people murmured their agreement. 

“It’s bizarre,” said Fred, frowning around at it. “We once hid from Filch in here, remember, George? But it was just a broom cupboard then. . . .” 

“Hey, Harry, what’s this stuff?” asked Dean from the rear of the room, indicating the Sneakoscopes and the Foe-Glass. 

“Dark Detectors,” said Harry, stepping between the cushions to reach them. “Basically they all show when Dark wizards or enemies are around, but you don’t want to rely on them too much, they can be fooled. . . .” 

“Well, I’ve been thinking about the sort of stuff we ought to do first and — er —” He noticed a raised hand. “What, Hermione?” 

“I think we ought to elect a leader,” said Hermione. 

“Harry’s leader,” said Cho at once, looking at Hermione as though she were mad.

“Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly,” said Hermione, unperturbed. “It makes it formal and it gives him authority. So — everyone who thinks Harry ought to be our leader?” 

Everybody put up their hands, even Zacharias Smith, though he did it very halfheartedly. 

“Er — right, thanks,” said Harry, who could feel his face burning. “And — what, Hermione?” 

“I also think we ought to have a name,” she said brightly, her hand still in the air. “It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don’t you think?” 

“Can we be the Anti-Umbridge League?” said Angelina hopefully. 

“Or the Ministry of Magic Are Morons Group?” suggested Fred. 

“I was thinking,” said Hermione, frowning at Fred, “more of a name that didn’t tell everyone what we were up to, so we can refer to it safely outside meetings.” 

“The Defense Association?” said Cho. “The D.A. for short, so nobody knows what we’re talking about?” 

“Yeah, the D.A.’s good,” said Ginny. “Only let’s make it stand for Dumbledore’s Army because that’s the Ministry’s worst fear, isn’t it?” 

**_Oh, I like her._ **

**Ginny?**

**_Yeah._ **

There was a good deal of appreciative murmuring and laughter at this. “All in favor of the D.A.?” said Hermione bossily, kneeling up on her cushion to count. 

“That’s a majority — motion passed!” She pinned the piece of paper with all of their names on it on the wall and wrote DUMBLEDORE’S ARMY across the top in large letters. 

“Right,” said Harry, when she had sat down again, “shall we get practicing then? I was thinking, the first thing we should do is Expelliarmus, you know, the Disarming Charm. I know it’s pretty basic but I’ve found it really useful —” 

“Oh please,” said Zacharias Smith, rolling his eyes and folding his arms. “I don’t think Expelliarmus is exactly going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?” 

“I’ve used it against him,” said Harry quietly. “It saved my life last June.” 

Smith opened his mouth stupidly. The rest of the room was very quiet. 

“But if you think it’s beneath you, you can leave,” Harry said. 

Smith did not move. Nor did anybody else. 

“Okay,” said Harry, “I reckon we should all divide into pairs and practice.” 

Everybody got to their feet at once and divided up. Predictably, Neville was left partnerless. 

“You can practice with me,” Harry told him. “Right — on the count of three, then — one, two, three —” 

The room was suddenly full of shouts of “Expelliarmus!”: Wands flew in all directions, missed spells hit books on shelves and sent them flying into the air. 

“Emile, Neville’s going to practice with you while I walk around!” Harry called out. 

“Alright,” Emile smiled at her half-brother. “Go easy on me.”

“Expelliarmus!” He cried suddenly, catching Emile off guard. She felt her wand fly out of her hand and across the room.

“I DID IT!” said Neville gleefully. “I’ve never done it before — I DID IT!” 

**_He did it. I can honestly say I’m surprised._ **

**Watch it, Barty.**

**_Don’t call me Barty. How many times must I say it?_ **

“Great job!” Emile ran over to him and gave him a high five before picking up her wand from the floor next to him. 

After they had each practiced a few more times a shrill shriek came from one end of the room. Harry had blown a whistle. Everyone lowered their wands. 

“That wasn’t bad,” said Harry, “but there’s definite room for improvement.” 

Zacharias Smith glared at him. 

“Let’s try again. . . .” 

Neville went to practice with Hermione and Ron, and Emile went over to Fred and George; the three of them jinxing Zacharias Smith as his back was turned. When Harry blew the whistle again he seemed a bit flustered.

“Well, that was pretty good,” said Harry, “but we’ve overrun, we’d better leave it here. Same time, same place next week?” 

“Sooner!” said Dean Thomas eagerly and many people nodded in agreement. 

Angelina, however, said quickly, “The Quidditch season’s about to start, we need team practices too!” 

“Let’s say next Wednesday night, then,” said Harry, “and we can decide on additional meetings then. . . . Come on, we’d better get going. . . .”


	47. Weasley is Our King

Over the next three weeks the evening DA meetings seemed like a glowing talisman for all of it’s members. People could sit through class after class of reading Wilbert Slinkhard’s Ministry based opinions as they recalled what they had done during their meetings. Neville had successfully disarmed Hermione. Colin Creevey had mastered the Impediment Jinx after three meetings’ hard effort. Parvati Patil had produced such a good Reductor Curse that she had reduced the table carrying all the Sneakoscopes to dust. 

Hermione soon devised a very clever method of communicating the time and date of the next meeting to all the members in case they needed to change it at short notice, because it would look so suspicious if people from different Houses were seen crossing the Great Hall to talk to each other too often. She gave each of the members of the D.A. a fake Galleon.

“You see the numerals around the edge of the coins?” Hermione said, holding one up for examination at the end of their fourth meeting. The coin gleamed fat and yellow in the light from the torches. “On real Galleons that’s just a serial number referring to the goblin who cast the coin. On these fake coins, though, the numbers will change to reflect the time and date of the next meeting. The coins will grow hot when the date changes, so if you’re carrying them in a pocket you’ll be able to feel them. We take one each, and when Harry sets the date of the next meeting he’ll change the numbers on his coin, and because I’ve put a Protean Charm on them, they’ll all change to mimic his.” A blank silence greeted Hermione’s words. 

She looked around at all the faces upturned to her, rather disconcerted. 

“Well — I thought it was a good idea,” she said uncertainly, “I mean, even if Umbridge asked us to turn out our pockets, there’s nothing fishy about carrying a Galleon, is there? But . . . well, if you don’t want to use them . . .” 

“You can do a Protean Charm?” said Terry Boot. 

“Yes,” said Hermione. 

“But that’s . . . that’s N.E.W.T. standard, that is,” he said weakly. 

“Oh,” said Hermione, trying to look modest. “Oh . . . well . . . yes, I suppose it is. . . .” 

“How come you’re not in Ravenclaw?” he demanded, staring at Hermione with something close to wonder. “With brains like yours?” 

“Well, the Sorting Hat did seriously consider putting me in Ravenclaw during my Sorting,” said Hermione brightly, “but it decided on Gryffindor in the end. So does that mean we’re using the Galleons?” 

As the first Quidditch match of the season, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, drew nearer, their D.A. meetings were put on hold because Angelina insisted on almost daily practices. The fact that the Quidditch Cup had not been held for so long added considerably to the interest and excitement surrounding the forthcoming game. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs were taking a lively interest in the outcome, for they, of course, would be playing both teams over the coming year; and the Heads of House of the competing teams, though they attempted to disguise it under a decent pretense of sportsmanship, were determined to see their side’s victory. 

Emile realized how much Professor McGonagall cared about beating Slytherin when she abstained from giving homework in the week leading up to the match. 

“I think you’ve got enough to be getting on with at the moment,” she said loftily. Nobody could quite believe their ears until she looked directly at Harry and Ron and said grimly, “I’ve become accustomed to seeing the Quidditch Cup in my study, boys, and I really don’t want to have to hand it over to Professor Snape, so use the extra time to practice, won’t you?” 

Snape was no less obviously partisan: He had booked the Quidditch pitch for Slytherin practice so often that the Gryffindors had difficulty getting on it to play. He was also turning a deaf ear to the many reports of Slytherin attempts to hex Gryffindor players in the corridors. When Alicia turned up in the hospital wing with her eyebrows growing so thick and fast that they obscured her vision and obstructed her mouth, Snape insisted that she must have attempted a Hair-Thickening Charm on herself and refused to listen to the fourteen eyewitnesses who insisted that they had seen the Slytherin Keeper, Miles Bletchley, hit her from behind with a jinx while she worked in the library. 

Emile missed one of the final practices because of a summon from Professor Snape.

“Miss Gorska, have you been practicing Occlumency?” he asked with a sour expression on his face.

“Drop the act, Professor. I would appreciate it if you at least treated me like a human being,” Emile sighed as she sat down across from him.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he sniffed. “Well, let’s get this started then.”

Without warning Emile felt herself remembering things she’d been trying not to think about. Cedric talking to her at the apparation testing not long before he died, Fred giving her really odd looks whenever she made an odd remark, George kissing her at the Yule Ball, Snape ignoring her for most of last year-

“ENOUGH!” Emile yelled, unable to see. The choking memories vanished, and Emile opened her eyes to see Snape leaning against the wall, staring at a lump of molten metal by the fire.

“I see into your mind, Professor,” Emile stared at Snape as he let his guard down. “You were so lonely, made fun of. You’re afraid. You’re afraid that you’ll never be worthy of Lily Evans.”

“Emile,” Snape gasped as he looked at her, his long black robes torn hallway through where a chunk of what had once been a cauldron had flown by.

“I think we’re done here, Professor,” Emile picked up her bookbag and left the office.

**_What was that?_ **

**I’ve learned all I need to know from that man.**

**_You could learn more. You penetrated his mind, you could learn all about the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord’s plans._ **

**No, Bartemius. I won’t stoop to your level.**

**_Wow._ **

**What?**

**I wish I had been as strong as you.**

**_Are you actually beginning to regret your decisions?_ **

Silence was the only response Emile got.

  Emile felt optimistic about Gryffindor’s chances; they had, after all, never lost to Malfoy’s team. Admittedly Ron was still not performing to Wood’s standard, but he was working extremely hard to improve. His greatest weakness was a tendency to lose confidence when he made a blunder; if he let in one goal he became flustered and was therefore likely to miss more. On the other hand, Emile had seen Ron make some truly spectacular saves when he was on form: During one memorable practice, he had hung one-handed from his broom and kicked the Quaffle so hard away from the goal hoop that it soared the length of the pitch and through the center hoop at the other end. The rest of the team felt this save compared favorably with one made recently by Barry Ryan, the Irish International Keeper, against Poland’s top Chaser, Ladislaw Zamojski. 

Even Fred had said that Ron might� yet make him and George proud, and that they were seriously considering admitting that he was related to them, something he assured Ron they had been trying to deny for four years. 

But Ron had never endured a relentless campaign of insults, jeers, and intimidation. When Slytherins, some of them seventh years and considerably larger than he was, muttered as they passed in the corridors, “Got your bed booked in the hospital wing, Weasley?” he did not laugh, but turned a delicate shade of green. When Draco Malfoy imitated Ron dropping the Quaffle (which he did whenever they were within sight of each other), Ron’s ears glowed red and his hands shook so badly that he was likely to drop whatever he was holding at the time too. 

October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy drafts that bit at exposed hands and faces. Emile liked to inform everyone that for the first time in several years they had finally managed to have a normal Halloween feast. The skies and the ceiling of the Great Hall turned a pale, pearly gray, the mountains around Hogwarts became snowcapped, and the temperature in the castle dropped so far that many students wore their thick protective dragon skin gloves in the corridors between lessons. 

The morning of the match dawned bright and cold. Emile was shivering under two quilts and a blanket, and would have loved to stay and warm up a bit more if it hadn’t been for Angelina waking her up bright and early for a shower and a healthy breakfast. 

The Great Hall was filling up fast when they arrived, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual. As they passed the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise; Emile couldn’t help but notice that nearly everyone there was wearing, in addition to the usual green-and-silver scarves and hats, silver badges in the shape of what seemed to be crowns. For some reason many of them waved at Ron, laughing uproariously.

When Harry and Ron came into the hall they were greeted by a roar from the Gryffindor table. They had convinced everyone to do as much as they could to encourage their new keeper, everyone was wearing red and gold, but far from raising Ron’s spirits the cheers seemed to sap the last of his morale; he collapsed onto the nearest bench looking as though he were facing his final meal.

As Emile listened to George and Nathan arguing over the importance of N.E.W.T. year, a startling roar from down the table caused everyone in the vicinity to jump. Luna Lovegood was talking to Harry, and wearing on her head a large hat in the shape of a highly realistic lion. Many people were staring at her and a few openly laughing and pointing. 

As the Ravenclaw headed back to her table Angelina came strutting over with Alicia and Katie.

“Come on you three, we’re going to go check conditions and change,” she snapped as she pulled Emile away from the table.

“Grab my toast!” Emile called desperately to George, who obliged with a nod before running to catch up.

“Here you are, milady,” he said as he bowed and presented the half eaten slice of toast.

“Oh my dear sir, however shall I repay you?” Emile fawned as she took the toast and they headed out of the castle in Angelina’s wake.

“A kiss is all I need,” he fluttered his eyelashes.

“You’re gonna have to try a bit harder then that,” Emile laughed and finished off her toast.

“Then you’re gonna have to wait a while,” George sassed back, crossing his arms.

“Don’t give me such attitude, George Weasley,” Emile bumped him in the side.

**_Emile, just ask him out._ **

**Why would I do that?**

**_If I could I would yell that you’re a terrible liar._ **

“Quit flirting, hurry up!” Angelina yelled from the field. “You two aren’t taking this seriously.”

“There’s no wind at all and the sky is a uniform pearly white, which means that visibility will be good without the drawback of direct sunlight in the eyes,” Angelina said as she glanced around the frostbitten pitch.

“Okay, I’ve only just found out the final lineup for Slytherin,” said Angelina, consulting a piece of parchment. “Last year’s Beaters, Derrick and Bole, have left now, but it looks as though Montague’s replaced them with the usual gorillas, rather than anyone who can fly particularly well. They’re two blokes called Crabbe and Goyle, I don’t know much about them —” 

“We do,” said Harry and Ron together. 

“Well, they don’t look bright enough to tell one end of a broom from another,” said Angelina, pocketing her parchment, “but then I was always surprised Derrick and Bole managed to find their way onto the pitch without signposts.” 

“Crabbe and Goyle are in the same mold,” Harry assured her. 

“It’s time,” said Angelina in a hushed voice, looking at her watch. “C’mon everyone . . . good luck.” 

The team rose, shouldered their brooms, and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight. A roar of sound greeted them, complete with distant singing, cheering, and whistling.

The Slytherin team were standing waiting for them. They too were wearing those silver crown-shaped badges. The new captain, Montague, was built along the same lines as a bodybuilder with massive forearms like hairy hams. Behind him lurked Crabbe and Goyle, almost as large, blinking stupidly in the sunlight, swinging their new Beaters’ bats. Malfoy stood to one side, the sunlight gleaming on his white blond head. 

“Captains shake hands,” ordered the umpire, Madam Hooch, as Angelina and Montague reached each other. Emile could tell that Montague was trying to crush Angelina’s fingers, though she did not wince. 

“Mount your brooms. . . .” Madam Hooch placed her whistle in her mouth and blew. The balls were released and the fourteen players shot upward; Emile going to the side of the field to watch.

“And it’s Johnson, Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I’ve been saying it for years but she still won’t go out with me —” 

“JORDAN!” yelled Professor McGonagall. 

“Just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest — and she’s ducked Warrington, she’s passed Montague, she’s — ouch — been hit from behind by a Bludger from Crabbe. . . . Montague catches the Quaffle, Montague heading back up the pitch and — nice Bludger there from George Weasley, that’s a Bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the Quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet’s away —” 

Emile couldn’t see Lee in the commentators box, but she could hear his commentary echoing throughout the stadium. Muffled laughed following the comment about Angelina indicated that Nathan was there with him.

“— dodges Warrington, avoids a Bludger — close call, Alicia — and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what’s that they’re singing?” 

And as Lee paused to listen the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver in the Slytherin section of the stands: 

_ Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring, That’s why Slytherins all sing: Weasley is our King. Weasley was born in a bin, He always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley will make sure we win, Weasley is our King. _

“— and Alicia passes back to Angelina!” Lee shouted, and as Emile held her breath, her insides boiling at what she had just heard, she knew Lee was trying to drown out the sound of the singing. 

“Come on now, Angelina — looks like she’s got just the Keeper to beat! — SHE SHOOTS — SHE — aaaah . . .” 

Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, had saved the goal; he threw the Quaffle to Warrington who sped off with it, zigzagging in between Alicia and Katie; the singing from below grew louder and louder as he drew nearer and nearer Ron — 

_ Weasley is our King, Weasley is our King, He always lets the Quaffle in, Weasley is our King. _

“— and it’s Warrington with the Quaffle, Warrington heading for goal, he’s out of Bludger range with just the Keeper ahead —” 

A great swell of song rose from the Slytherin stands: 

_ Weasley cannot save a thing, He cannot block a single ring _

“— so it’s the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper, Weasley, brother of Beaters, Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team — come on, Ron!” 

But the scream of delight came from the Slytherin end: Ron had dived wildly, his arms wide, and the Quaffle had soared between them, straight through Ron’s central hoop. 

“Slytherin score!” came Lee’s voice amid the cheering and booing from the crowds below. “So that’s ten-nil to Slytherin — bad luck, Ron . . .” 

The Slytherins sang even louder:

**_WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN, HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN_ **

“— and Gryffindor back in possession and it’s Katie Bell tanking up the pitch —” cried Lee valiantly, though the singing was now so deafening that he could hardly make himself heard above it. 

**_WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN, WEASLEY IS OUR KING_ **

**_WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN_ **

“— and it’s Warrington again,” bellowed Lee, “who passes to Pucey, Pucey’s off past Spinnet, come on now Angelina, you can take him — turns out you can’t — but nice Bludger from Fred Weasley, I mean, George Weasley, oh who cares, one of them anyway, and Warrington drops the Quaffle and Katie Bell — er — drops it too — so that’s Montague with the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Montague takes the Quaffle, and he’s off up the pitch, come on now Gryffindor, block him!” 

**_WEASLEY CANNOT SAVE A THING_ **

“— and Pucey’s dodged Alicia again, and he’s heading straight for goal, stop it, Ron!” 

Emile groaned along with most of the crowd as Ron did not stop the quaffle.

**_THAT’S WHY SLYTHERINS ALL SING: WEASLEY IS OUR KING._ **

But twenty-nil was nothing, there was still time for Gryffindor to catch up or catch the Snitch, a few goals and they would be in the lead as usual.

“— Pucey throws to Warrington, Warrington to Montague, Montague back to Pucey — Johnson intervenes, Johnson takes the Quaffle, Johnson to Bell, this looks good — I mean bad — Bell’s hit by a Bludger from Goyle of Slytherin and it’s Pucey in possession again . . .” 

**_WEASLEY WAS BORN IN A BIN, HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN, WEASLEY WILL MAKE SURE WE WIN —_ **

**Are you singing along in my head?!**

**_It’s catchy._ **

At that moment Harry dove towards the ground, followed closely by Malfoy. They raced neck to neck for several seconds until Harry flew upwards, snitch clutched in his hand. The deafening roar from the crowd suddenly turned its yells of indignation as Harry was knocked off his broom by a deliberately shot bludger by Crabbe.

Emile ran over as Angelina flew down and helped him up.

“Are you alright?” she asked anxiously.

“ ’Course I am,” said Harry grimly, taking her hand and allowing her to pull him to his feet.

“It was that thug, Crabbe,” said Angelina angrily. “He whacked the Bludger at you the moment he saw you’d got the Snitch — but we won, Harry, we won!” 

Draco Malfoy had landed close by; white-faced with fury, he was still managing to sneer. 

“Saved Weasley’s neck, haven’t you?” he said to Harry. “I’ve never seen a worse Keeper . . . but then he was born in a bin. . . . Did you like my lyrics, Potter?” 

Harry did not answer; he turned away to meet the rest of the team who were now landing one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph, all except Ron, who had dismounted from his broom over by the goalposts and was making his way slowly back to the changing rooms alone. 

“We wanted to write another couple of verses!” Malfoy called, as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry. “But we couldn’t find rhymes for fat and ugly — we wanted to sing about his mother, see —” 

“Talk about sour grapes,” said Angelina, casting Malfoy a disgusted look. 

“— we couldn’t fit in useless loser either — for his father, you know —” 

Fred and George had realized what Malfoy was talking about. Halfway through shaking Harry’s hand they stiffened, looking around at Malfoy. 

“Leave it,” said Angelina at once, taking Fred by the arm. “Leave it, Fred, let him yell, he’s just sore he lost, the jumped-up little —” 

“— but you like the Weasleys, don’t you, Potter?” said Malfoy, sneering. “Spend holidays there and everything, don’t you? Can’t see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you’ve been dragged up by Muggles even the Weasleys’ hovel smells okay —” 

Emile and Harry grabbed hold of George; meanwhile it was taking the combined efforts of Angelina, Alicia, and Katie to stop Fred leaping on Malfoy, who was laughing openly. Emile looked around for Madam Hooch, but she was still berating Crabbe for his illegal Bludger attack. 

“Or perhaps,” said Malfoy, leering as he backed away, “you can remember what your mother’s house stank like, Potter, and Weasley’s pigsty reminds you of it —” 

“George no!” Emile yelled at the redhead as Harry let go of one of his arms and he struggled out of Emile’s grip, launching himself at Malfoy. Harry had also ran at Malfoy, and they two were attacking him with unmatchable fury. Emile was yelling along with the rest of the girls on the team.

“Harry! HARRY! GEORGE! NO!”

The girls yelled, George swore, Malfoy cried out in well deserved pain. Madame Hooch finally noticed what was going on.

“IMPEDIMENTA,” she bellowed, pointing her wand at the group. The three of them were blasted apart, Emile ran over to George, who was sporting a swollen lip.

“What do you think you’re doing?” screamed Madam Hooch. “I’ve never seen behavior like it — back up to the castle, both of you, and straight to your Head of House’s office! Go! Now!”

“Let go of me, Emile,” George growled. 

“Are you alright?” she said as he began to walk away.

“Leave it,” Fred whispered in her ear. The rest of the team had let him go and he was following his brother up to the castle.

“Banned,” said Angelina in a hollow voice, late that evening in the common room. “Banned. No Seeker and no Beaters . . . What on earth are we going to do?” 

Emile was sitting a bit away from the group, who were all sitting in stony silence. It didn’t feel like they’d just won a game at all. Everyone was slouching on an armchair, except for Ron, who hadn’t been seen since the match.

“It’s just so unfair,” said Alicia numbly. “I mean, what about Crabbe and that Bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned him?” 

“No,” said Ginny miserably; she and Hermione were sitting on either side of Harry. “He just got lines, I heard Montague laughing about it at dinner.” 

“And banning Fred when he didn’t even do anything!” said Alicia furiously, pummeling her knee with her fist. 

“It’s not my fault I didn’t,” said Fred, with a very ugly look on his face. “I would’ve pounded the little scumbag to a pulp if you three hadn’t been holding me back.” 

“I’m going to bed,” said Angelina, getting slowly to her feet. “Maybe this will all turn out to have been a bad dream. . . . Maybe I’ll wake up tomorrow and find we haven’t played yet. . . .” 

Emile watched her go, turning to face the fire. Not long after that, Katie and Alicia left, then Fred and George. She fell asleep sometime after that, alone by the fire, the hushed whispers of Harry and Hermione coming from a few armchairs away.

The next day Fred and George seemed almost over their depression. They were certainly happy enough to invite Emile up to their room, where they opened a window and enchanted snowballs to fly after students walking in the courtyards below. Emile sat with Nathan and Lee in the middle of the room and worked on an essay for Charms.

“I think our future lies outside of the education system, George,” Fred said after a while of silence that was filled with only the scratching noises of quills and pens on parchment. 

“I think, Fred, that there’s still a few things worth staying for,” George said as he looked across the room to where Emile and Lee were sitting.

“You guys can’t leave the DA, where else will we learn how to fight Death Eaters?” Nathan grinned at the twins.

“If you do plan on leaving, at least make sure you can produce a patronus,” Lee nodded at Nathan approvingly.

“What do you think, Emile?” George asked hesitantly.

“If I speak my mind then Fred will say I sound like your mother,” Emile responded without looking up from her paper. “There, all done. Twelve inches of parchment.”

“He said ten,” Nathan read over his notes and gave Emile a quizzical look.

“Oh,” Emile stared at the extra two inches of writing in front of her. “I’m very tired.”

“Angelina mentioned that you haven’t been sleeping well,” George said as he hurtled a snowball at Ron.

“Angelina also desperately wants me to try out for beater,” Emile said quickly, walking over to the twins.

**_Are you changing the subject on purpose?_ **

**Yes.**

“Well, you should do it,” Fred said from where he was sitting by the window.

“Go for it, Em,” George encouraged. “Oh, and you’re invited to the burrow for the holidays.”

“What about Sirius? All alone in that big house,” Emile said quietly to George as she looked out the window at the slowly falling snow. 

“Maybe we can convince Dumbledore to let him come for dinner?” George whispered into her ear and put his arm around her.

“I doubt it,” she muttered and stood up.

Turning to the rest of the group she yawned and bid them goodnight.

The next day came the final meeting of Dumbledore’s Army for the term. When Emile arrived in the Room of Requirement with Nathan, they found it decked out in christmas decorations. Mistletoe, Holly, and Pine garlands graced the walls, strung with golden baubles. Emile recognized this garland as one of the many that the prefects and Head Boy’s and Girl’s had not had time to put up in the hallway.

Angelina was telling Fred, George, and Harry the news about their Quidditch replacements. 

“Well,” said Angelina dully, pulling off her cloak and throwing it into a corner, “we’ve replaced you.” 

“Replaced me?” said Harry blankly. 

“You and Fred and George,” she said impatiently. “We’ve got another Seeker!” 

“Who?” said Harry quickly. 

“Ginny Weasley,” said Katie. 

Harry gaped at her. 

“Yeah, I know,” said Angelina, pulling out her wand and flexing her arm. “But she’s pretty good, actually. Nothing on you, of course,” she said, throwing him a very dirty look, “but as we can’t have you . . .”

“And what about the Beaters?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even. “Andrew Kirke,” said Alicia without enthusiasm, “and Emile. Andrew isn’t brilliant, but compared with the rest of the idiots who turned up . . .”

“Okay,” Harry said, calling them all to order. “I thought this evening we should just go over the things we’ve done so far, because it’s the last meeting before the holidays and there’s no point starting anything new right before a three-week break —” 

“We’re not doing anything new?” said Zacharias Smith, in a disgruntled whisper loud enough to carry through the room. “If I’d known that, I wouldn’t have come. . . .” 

“We’re all really sorry Harry didn’t tell you, then,” said Fred loudly. 

Several people sniggered. 

“We can practice in pairs,” said Harry. “We’ll start with the Impediment Jinx, just for ten minutes, then we can get out the cushions and try Stunning again.”

The room was soon full of intermittent cries of “Impedimenta!” People froze for a minute or so, during which their partners would stare aimlessly around the room watching other pairs at work, then would unfreeze and take their turn at the jinx. 

When George froze Emile and then turned to watch Fred and Lee, Emile pretended to stay frozen just a bit longer and caught George off guard with her wordless jinx, dancing around him for the few minutes he stayed frozen with his mouth open and arms stretched out.

“That was unfair!” he said as soon as he unfroze.

“Maybe you should pay more attention to the task at hand, Georgie,” Emile said with a wink.

“Oh you mean like this? Impedimenta!”

Emile easily cast a shield charm, laughing as George began to grumble in frustration.

After ten minutes on the Impediment Jinx, they laid out cushions all over the floor and started practicing Stunning again. Space was really too confined to allow them all to work this spell at once; half the group observed the others for a while, then swapped over. 

At the end of an hour, Harry called a halt. 

“You’re getting really good,” he said, beaming around at them. “When we get back from the holidays we can start doing some of the big stuff — maybe even Patronuses.” 

There was a murmur of excitement. The room began to clear in the usual twos and threes; most people wished Harry a Happy Christmas as they went. Emile left with Angelina, who desperately wanted a relaxing bath after the quidditch tryouts.

“You ever wonder what school would be like if the Boy Who Lived didn’t go at the same time as us?” Angelina wondered out loud as they sat in the bubble filled tub, jets squirting hot water on their sore toes.

“All the time,” Emile responded with a laugh.


	48. Harry Potter and the Visions

Emile was woken in the middle of the night by Ginny and Professor McGonagall. The older woman was poking Emile in the face with her wand, since she couldn’t climb the loft bed.

“Any day now, Miss Gorska,” She snapped, her face pale. “The headmaster needs to see you, and the Weasley’s. It seems that you’ll be going home a few days early.”

“If we’re leaving then can I take Carrot?” Emile yawned as she sat up in bed.

“Yes but hurry, Miss Gorska.”

Emile hastily took Carrot and slipped her into her pants pocket on top of a pair of gloves. The small mouse gave a few squeaks as she snuggled into the left handed glove and fell asleep.

Emile clambered out of bed in her flannel pajamas and black tanktop, wrapping herself up in a blanket before following her head of house down the stairs.

“What’s going on?” she yawned to Ginny as they waited in the common room for Professor McGonagall to fetch Fred and George.

“I have no idea,” Ginny said worriedly.

“-he said he saw your father hurt. I can’t tell you any more at the moment, Fred,” Professor McGonagall scolded the twins, who were pestering her with questions.

“No, Dad can’t be hurt,” Ginny said with a glare at Professor McGonagall.

The four of them followed Professor McGonagall through the hallways to the statue of the stone gargoyle, which the head of house said “Fizzing whizbee” to. The gargoyle leapt to the side, revealing the spiral staircase that they all quickly ascended.

Inside the office they found Dumbledore, Ron, and  –  not to Emile’s surprise  – Harry.

“Harry — what’s going on?” asked Ginny. “Professor McGonagall says you saw Dad hurt —” 

“Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix,” said Dumbledore before Harry could speak. “He has been taken to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius’s house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than the Burrow. You will meet your mother there.” 

“How’re we going?” asked Fred, looking shaken. “Floo powder?” 

“No,” said Dumbledore, “Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey.” 

He indicated the old kettle lying innocently on his desk. “We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back. . . . I wish to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you —” 

There was a flash of flame in the very middle of the office, leaving behind a single golden feather that floated gently to the floor. 

“It is Fawkes’s warning,” said Dumbledore, catching the feather as it fell. “She must know you’re out of your beds. . . . Minerva, go and head her off — tell her any story —” 

Professor McGonagall was gone in a swish of tartan. 

“He says he’ll be delighted,” said a bored voice behind Dumbledore; the wizard called Phineas had reappeared in front of his Slytherin banner. “My great-great-grandson has always had odd taste in houseguests. . . .” 

“Come here, then,” Dumbledore said to Harry, Emile, and the Weasleys. “And quickly, before anyone else joins us . . .” 

They all crowded around the rusty old tea kettle.

“You have all used a Portkey before?” asked Dumbledore, and they nodded, each reaching out to touch some part of the blackened kettle. “Good. On the count of three then . . . one . . . two . . . three.” 

On three Emile felt a powerful jerk behind her navel, the ground vanished from beneath her feet, her hand was glued to the kettle; she was banging into the others as all sped forward in a swirl of colors and a rush of wind, the kettle pulling them onward and then — 

Her feet hit the ground so hard that her knees buckled, the kettle clattered to the ground and somewhere close at hand a voice said, “Back again, the blood traitor brats, is it true their father’s dying . . . ?” 

“OUT!” roared a second voice. 

George stood up quickly, helping Emile stand up with him. She quickly checked on Carrot, who was still snoozing in her pocket. A quick glance upwards informed her that they were in the gloomy basement kitchen below Number 12, Grimmauld Place. The only sources of light were the fire and one guttering candle, which illuminated the remains of a solitary supper. 

Kreacher was disappearing through the door to the hall, looking back at them malevolently as he hitched up his loincloth; Sirius was hurrying toward them all, looking anxious. He was unshaven and still in his day clothes; there was also a slightly Mundungus-like whiff of stale drink about him. 

“What’s going on?” he said, stretching out a hand to help Ginny up. “Phineas Nigellus said Arthur’s been badly injured —” 

“Ask Harry,” said Fred. 

“Yeah, I want to hear this for myself,” said George. 

They stared at the fifth year, arms crossed. Emile wrapped the blanket tighter around her from the back of the group, feeling like she was intruding on this family affair.

“It was —” Harry began, “I had a — a kind of — vision. . . .I was in a hallway, and there was this ghastly snake, and it was slithering down towards one end, where there was a door. It wanted to get in but your father was in the way. . .”

**_That’s the Dark Lords pet, Nagini._ **

**How fitting that he has a snake.**

**_Well what did you expect him to have, a llama?_ **

When Harry had finished, Fred, George, and Ginny continued to stare at him for a moment. Ron’s face was white and Ginny was trembling.

“Is Mum here?” said Fred, turning to Sirius. 

“She probably doesn’t even know what’s happened yet,” said Sirius. “The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore’s letting Molly know now.” 

“We’ve got to go to St. Mungo’s,” said Ginny urgently. She looked around at her brothers; they were of course still in their pajamas. “Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything — ?” 

“Hang on, you can’t go tearing off to St. Mungo’s!” said Sirius. 

“ ’Course we can go to St. Mungo’s if we want,” said Fred, with a mulish expression, “he’s our dad!”

“And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?” 

“What does that matter?” said George hotly. 

“It matters because we don’t want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!” said Sirius angrily. “Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?” 

Fred and George looked as though they could not care less what the Ministry made of anything. Ron was still white-faced and silent. Ginny said, “Somebody else could have told us. . . . We could have heard it somewhere other than Harry. . . .” 

“Like who?” said Sirius impatiently. “Listen, your dad’s been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order’s —” 

“We don’t care about the dumb Order!” shouted Fred. 

“It’s our dad dying we’re talking about!” yelled George. 

“Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won’t thank you for messing things up for the Order!” said Sirius angrily in his turn. “This is how it is — this is why you’re not in the Order — you don’t understand — there are things worth dying for!” 

“Easy for you to say, stuck here!” bellowed Fred. “I don’t see you risking your neck!” 

The little color remaining in Sirius’s face drained from it. He looked for a moment as though he would quite like to hit Fred, but when he spoke, it was in a voice of determined calm. 

“I know it’s hard, but we’ve all got to act as though we don’t know anything yet. We’ve got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?” 

Fred and George still looked mutinous. Ginny, however, took a few steps over to the nearest chair and sank into it. Harry looked at Ron, who made a funny movement somewhere between a nod and shrug, and they sat down too. The twins glared at Sirius for another minute, then took seats on either side of Ginny, Emile next to George.

“That’s right,” said Sirius encouragingly, “come on, let’s all . . . let’s all have a drink while we’re waiting. Accio Butterbeer!”

He raised his wand as he spoke and half a dozen bottles came flying toward them out of the pantry, skidded along the table, scattering the debris of Sirius’s meal, and stopped neatly in front of the six of them. They all drank, and for a while the only sounds were those of the crackling of the kitchen fire and the soft thud of their bottles on the table. 

**You’ve been oddly quiet.**

**_Well, I’ve been thinking._ **

**About what?**

**_The good old days. You know, with the Dark Lord. Before I was trapped inside the mind of an emotional wreck._ **

**I will invade your consciousness and show you how much of a wreck you are compared to me.**

**_Don’t, please. I know I’m bad but hey, I still had my mother._ **

**And I have my friends.**

**_Friend aren’t the same as family._ **

**Well there’s not much I can do now.**

**_Get married._ **

**What the heck Barty, I’m only seventeen.**

**_There are plenty of people that get married that young._ **

**Times change.**

Then a burst of fire in midair illuminated the dirty plates in front of them and as they gave cries of shock, a scroll of parchment fell with a thud onto the table, accompanied by a single golden phoenix tail feather. 

“Fawkes!” said Sirius at once, snatching up the parchment. “That’s not Dumbledore’s writing — it must be a message from your mother — here —” He thrust the letter into George’s hand, who ripped it open and read aloud, “Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St. Mungo’s now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum.” 

George looked around the table. “Still alive . . .” he said slowly. “But that makes it sound . . .” 

He did not need to finish the sentence. It sounded to Emile too as though Mr. Weasley was hovering somewhere between life and death, and she wrapped her blanket tighter around herself. Still exceptionally pale, Ron stared at the back of his mother’s letter as though it might speak words of comfort to him. Fred pulled the parchment out of George’s hands and read it for himself, then looked up his hand shaking on his butterbeer bottle.

Fred fell into a doze, his head sagging sideways onto his shoulder. Ginny was curled like a cat on her chair, but her eyes were open; Emile could see them reflecting the firelight. Ron was sitting with his head in his hands, whether awake or asleep it was impossible to tell. And Emile, Harry, and Sirius looked at each other every so often, intruders upon the family grief, waiting . . . waiting . . . 

And then, at ten past five in the morning by Ron’s watch, the kitchen door swung open and Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen. She was extremely pale, but when they all turned to look at her, Fred, Ron, and Harry half-rising from their chairs, she gave a wan smile. 

“He’s going to be all right,” she said, her voice weak with tiredness. “He’s sleeping. We can all go and see him later. Bill’s sitting with him now, he’s going to take the morning off work.” 

Fred fell back into his chair with his hands over his face. George and Ginny got up, walked swiftly over to their mother, and hugged her. Ron gave a very shaky laugh and downed the rest of his butterbeer in one. 

“Breakfast!” said Sirius loudly and joyfully, jumping to his feet. “Where’s that accursed house-elf? Kreacher! KREACHER!” 

But Kreacher did not answer the summons. 

“Oh, forget it, then,” muttered Sirius, counting the people in front of him. “So it’s breakfast for — let’s see — seven . . . Bacon and eggs, I think, and some tea, and toast —”

Harry ran into the kitchen to help Sirius and was quickly followed by Mrs. Weasley.

“Thank Merlin,” Fred mumbled as he leaned back in his chair and put his feet up on the table.

“He’s going to be alright,” Ginny grinned as she ran over and hugged her other twin. 

Carrot ran up onto Emile’s shoulder at squeaked at Ginny, whiskers quivering. They laughed.

After breakfast everyone went to bed. Emile slept for five hours, until Sirius came in with her trunk, which had been brought back from Hogwarts. 

“Why would they send it back without packing anything in it?” Emile said in an exasperated voice. 

“Maybe you should have packed before you were spontaneously whisked away?” Sirius laughed.

“I was doing an essay for Umbridge!” Emile said indignantly.

“Well you’ve got to have something!” Sirius walked over to the trunk.

“Wall hangings  didn’t have time to put up and an incomplete set of clothing,” Emile grumbled, pulling out skinny jeans and a tye dyed t-shirt.

“You’ll be freezing in that,” Sirius laughed.

“I’ll be right back,” Emile stood up and turned, disapparating into the twins room.

Emile walked over to one of the trunks and pulled it open, rummaging through the contents. There were candies scattered throughout the entire trunk, hidden inside shoes and bundles of socks. Extendable Ears were tucked inside pockets and books. 

“What are you doing?” An indignant cry behind Emile caused her to turn around, holding one of George’s hoodies. “That’s my sweater!”

“Hold on,” Emile disapparated back to her room, changing quickly into her pants and t-shirt before slipping her arms into the hoodie, leaving it unzipped.

“Sorry, I forgot to pack the night we left,” Emile apparated back into the room, where Fred and George were cleaning up the scattered candies off of the floor.

“Nevermind that, do you have any idea how much trouble we’ll get in if mom sees these?” Fred snapped and shook a fistful of Nosebleed Nougats in her direction.

“No, don’t nevermind that. That’s my hoodie,” George threw a sock at his brother before turning to Emile. “I want that back.”

“You will, don’t worry,” Emile gave him a hug before running downstairs.

“Oh, Emile dear. Sirius told me about your clothes, we can get you some pants from diagon alley after the trip,” Mrs. Weasley was rushing around the kitchen.

Emile greeted Tonks and Mad-Eye, who had turned up to escort them across London, gleefully laughing at the bowler hat Mad-Eye was wearing at an angle to conceal his magical eye and assuring him, truthfully, that Tonks, whose hair was short and bright pink again, would attract far less attention on the underground. 

They took the underground train to downtown London, Tonks and Mad Eye flanking Harry. They followed Tonks up an escalator and onto a bustling street, covered in muggle Christmas decorations. Muggle lights and strings of pine and holly lined the shop windows, here and there displays of christmas trees and snowmen were seen inside next to manequins covered in scarves and winter coats.

They listened to Mad Eye’s information on the hospital as they travelled down the bustling street.

“Wasn’t easy to find a good location for a hospital. Nowhere in Diagon Alley was big enough and we couldn’t have it underground like the Ministry — unhealthy. In the end they managed to get hold of a building up here. Theory was sick wizards could come and go and just blend in with the crowd. . . .”

“Here we go,” said Moody a moment later. 

They had arrived outside a large, old-fashioned, red brick department store called Purge and Dowse Ltd. The place had a shabby, miserable air; the window displays consisted of a few chipped dummies with their wigs askew, standing at random and modeling fashions at least ten years out of date. Large signs on all the dusty doors read closed for refurbishment. 

“Right,” said Tonks, beckoning them forward to a window displaying nothing but a particularly ugly female dummy whose false eyelashes were hanging off and who was modeling a green nylon pinafore dress. “Everybody ready?” 

They nodded, clustering around her. Tonks leaned close to the glass, looking up at the very ugly dummy and said, her breath steaming up the glass, “Wotcher . . . We’re here to see Arthur Weasley.” 

The dummy gave a tiny nod, beckoned its jointed finger, and Tonks had seized Ginny and Mrs. Weasley by the elbows, stepped right through the glass and vanished. Fred, George, Emile, and Ron exchanged looks before stepped after them.

There was no sign of the ugly dummy or the space where she had stood. They had arrived in what seemed to be a crowded reception area where rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs, some looking perfectly normal and perusing out-of-date copies of Witch Weekly, others sporting gruesome disfigurements such as elephant trunks or extra hands sticking out of their chests. The room was scarcely less quiet than the street outside, for many of the patients were making very peculiar noises. A sweaty-faced witch in the center of the front row, who was fanning herself vigorously with a copy of the Daily Prophet, kept letting off a high-pitched whistle as steam came pouring out of her mouth, and a grubby-looking warlock in the corner clanged like a bell every time he moved, and with each clang his head vibrated horribly, so that he had to seize himself by the ears and hold it steady. 

Witches and wizards in lime-green robes were walking up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards like Umbridge’s. 

“Over here!” called Mrs. Weasley over the renewed clanging of the warlock in the corner, and they followed her to the queue in front of a plump blonde witch seated at a desk marked inquiries. The wall behind her was covered in notices and posters saying things like  _ a clean cauldron keeps potions from becoming poisons _ and  _ antidotes are anti-don’ts unless approved by a qualified healer.  _

**_Last time you were here was right after the world cup._ **

**What you mean is, after you messed me up.**

**_Exactly._ **

At the front of the queue, a young wizard was performing an odd on-the-spot jig and trying, in between yelps of pain, to explain his predicament to the witch behind the desk. “It’s these — ouch — shoes my brother gave me — ow — they’re eating my — OUCH — feet — look at them, there must be some kind of — AARGH — jinx on them and I can’t — AAAAARGH — get them off —” 

He hopped from one foot to the other as though dancing on hot coals. Fred and George leaned a bit closer to the wizard, eyeing the shoes curiously.

“Don’t even think about it,” Emile whispered. “I’ll tell your mother.”

“You’re wearing my sweater, you won’t tell her anything,” George whispered back

“The shoes don’t prevent you reading, do they?” said the blonde witch irritably, pointing at a large sign to the left of her desk. “You want Spell Damage, fourth floor. Just like it says on the floor guide. Next!” 

The wizard hobbled and pranced sideways out of the way, the Weasley party moved forward a few steps.

A very old, stooped wizard with a hearing trumpet had shuffled to the front of the queue now. 

“I’m here to see Broderick Bode!” he wheezed. 

“Ward forty-nine, but I’m afraid you’re wasting your time,” said the witch dismissively “He’s completely addled, you know, still thinks he’s a teapot. . . . Next!” 

A harassed-looking wizard was holding his small daughter tightly by the ankle while she flapped around his head using the immensely large, feathery wings that had sprouted right out the back of her romper suit. 

“Fourth floor,” said the witch in a bored voice, without asking, and the man disappeared through the double doors beside the desk, holding his daughter like an oddly shaped balloon. “Next!”

Mrs. Weasley moved forward to the desk. “Hello,” she said. “My husband, Arthur Weasley, was supposed to be moved to a different ward this morning, could you tell us — ?” 

“Arthur Weasley?” said the witch, running her finger down a long list in front of her. “Yes, first floor, second door on the right, Dai Llewellyn ward.” 

“Thank you,” said Mrs. Weasley. “Come on, you lot.” 

They followed through the double doors and along the narrow corridor beyond, which was lined with more portraits of famous Healers and lit by crystal bubbles full of candles that floated up on the ceiling, looking like giant soapsuds. More witches and wizards in lime-green robes walked in and out of the doors they passed; a foul-smelling yellow gas wafted into the passageway as they passed one door, and every now and then they heard distant wailing. They climbed a flight of stairs and entered the “Creature-Induced Injuries” corridor, where the second door on the right bore the words “dangerous” dai llewellyn ward: serious bites. Underneath this was a card in a brass holder on which had been handwritten Healer-in-Charge: Hippocrates Smethwyck, Trainee Healer: Augustus Pye. 

“We’ll wait outside, Molly,” Tonks said. “Arthur won’t want too many visitors at once. . . . It ought to be just the family first.” 

Mad-Eye growled his approval of this idea and set himself with his back against the corridor wall, his magical eye spinning in all directions. 

Emile leaned against the wall next to him, expecting to be left out of the family reunion, until George grabbed her by the arm and pulled her inside alongside him.

“But I didn’t do anything to help,” Emile whispered fervently.

“He might need cheering up, and you know more about muggle stuff then Harry probably does,” George whispered back to Emile and she let out a small giggle, immediately covering her face with her hands.

The ward was small and rather dingy as the only window was narrow and set high in the wall facing the door. Most of the light came from more shining crystal bubbles clustered in the middle of the ceiling. The walls were of panelled oak and there was a portrait of a rather vicious looking wizard on the wall, captioned Urquhart Rackharrow, 1612–1697, inventor of the entrail-expelling curse. 

There were only three patients. Mr. Weasley was occupying the bed at the far end of the ward beside the tiny window. Emile was pleased and relieved to see that he was propped up on several pillows and reading the Daily Prophet by the solitary ray of sunlight falling onto his bed. He looked around as they walked toward him and, seeing whom it was, beamed. 

“Hello!” he called, throwing the Prophet aside. “Bill just left, Molly, had to get back to work, but he says he’ll drop in on you later. . . .” 

“How are you, Arthur?” asked Mrs. Weasley, bending down to kiss his cheek and looking anxiously into his face. “You’re still looking a bit peaky. . . .” 

“I feel absolutely fine,” said Mr. Weasley brightly, holding out his good arm to give Ginny a hug. “If they could only take the bandages off, I’d be fit to go home.” 

“Why can’t they take them off, Dad?” asked Fred. 

“Well, I start bleeding like mad every time they try,” said Mr. Weasley cheerfully, reaching across for his wand, which lay on his bedside cabinet, and waving it so that six extra chairs appeared at his bedside to seat them all. “It seems there was some rather unusual kind of poison in that snake’s fangs that keeps wounds open. . . . They’re sure they’ll find an antidote, though, they say they’ve had much worse cases than mine, and in the meantime I just have to keep taking a Blood-Replenishing Potion every hour. But that fellow over there,” he said, dropping his voice and nodding toward the bed opposite in which a man lay looking green and sickly and staring at the ceiling. “Bitten by a werewolf, poor chap. No cure at all.” 

“A werewolf?” whispered Mrs. Weasley, looking alarmed. “Is he safe in a public ward? Shouldn’t he be in a private room?” 

“It’s two weeks till full moon,” Mr. Weasley reminded her quietly. “They’ve been talking to him this morning, the Healers, you know, trying to persuade him he’ll be able to lead an almost normal life. I said to him — didn’t mention names, of course — but I said I knew a werewolf personally, very nice man, who finds the condition quite easy to manage. . . .” 

“What did he say?” asked George. 

“Said he’d give me another bite if I didn’t shut up,” said Mr. Weasley sadly. 

**_I would too._ **

“And that woman over there,” he indicated the only other occupied bed, which was right beside the door, “won’t tell the Healers what bit her, which makes us all think it must have been something she was handling illegally. Whatever it was took a real chunk out of her leg, very nasty smell when they take off the dressings.” 

“So, you going to tell us what happened, Dad?” asked Fred, pulling his chair closer to the bed. 

“Well, you already know, don’t you?” said Mr. Weasley, with a significant smile at Harry. “It’s very simple — I’d had a very long day, dozed off, got sneaked up on, and bitten.” 

“Is it in the Prophet, you being attacked?” asked Fred, indicating the newspaper Mr. Weasley had cast aside. 

“No, of course not,” said Mr. Weasley, with a slightly bitter smile, “the Ministry wouldn’t want everyone to know a dirty great serpent got —” 

“Arthur!” said Mrs. Weasley warningly. 

“— got — er — me,” Mr. Weasley said hastily, though Emile was quite sure that was not what he had meant to say. 

“So where were you when it happened, Dad?” asked George. 

“That’s my business,” said Mr. Weasley, though with a small smile. He snatched up the Daily Prophet, shook it open again and said, “I was just reading about Willy Widdershins’s arrest when you arrived. You know Willy turned out to be behind those regurgitating toilets last summer? One of his jinxes backfired, the toilet exploded, and they found him lying unconscious in the wreckage covered from head to foot in —” 

“When you say you were ‘on duty,’ ” Fred interrupted in a low voice, “what were you doing?” 

“You heard your father,” whispered Mrs. Weasley, “we are not discussing this here! Go on about Willy Widdershins, Arthur —” 

“Well, don’t ask me how, but he actually got off on the toilet charge,” said Mr. Weasley grimly. “I can only suppose gold changed hands —” 

“You were guarding it, weren’t you?” said George quietly. “The weapon? The thing You-Know-Who’s after?” 

“George, be quiet!” snapped Mrs. Weasley. 

George looked like he was about to say something else but Emile grabbed his arm and shook her head. His mother was stressed enough as it was.

“Anyway,” said Mr. Weasley in a raised voice, “this time Willy’s been caught selling biting doorknobs to Muggles, and I don’t think he’ll be able to worm his way out of it because according to this article, two Muggles have lost fingers and are now in St. Mungo’s for emergency bone regrowth and memory modification. Just think of it, Muggles in St. Mungo’s! I wonder which ward they’re in?” And he looked eagerly around as though hoping to see a signpost. 

“Didn’t you say You-Know-Who’s got a snake, Harry?” asked Fred, looking at his father for a reaction. “A massive one? You saw it the night he returned, didn’t you?” 

“That’s enough,” said Mrs. Weasley crossly. “Mad-Eye and Tonks are outside, Arthur, they want to come and see you. And you lot can wait outside,” she added to her children, Emile, and Harry. “You can come and say good-bye afterward. Go on. . . .” 

They trooped back into the corridor. Mad-Eye and Tonks went in and closed the door of the ward behind them. 

Fred raised his eyebrows. “Fine,” he said coolly, rummaging in his pockets, “be like that. Don’t tell us anything.” 

“Looking for these?” said George, holding out what looked like a tangle of flesh-colored string. 

“You read my mind,” said Fred, grinning. “Let’s see if St. Mungo’s puts Imperturbable Charms on its ward doors, shall we?” 

He and George disentangled the string and separated six Extendable Ears from each other. Fred and George handed them around. Harry hesitated to take one. 

“Go on, Harry, take it! You saved Dad’s life, if anyone’s got the right to eavesdrop on him it’s you. . . .” 

Harry took the end of the string and inserted it into his ear as everyone else had done. 

“Okay, go!” Fred whispered. 

The flesh-colored strings wriggled like long skinny worms, then snaked under the door. For a few seconds Emile could hear nothing, then he heard Tonks whispering as clearly as though she were standing right beside him. 

“. . . they searched the whole area but they couldn’t find the snake anywhere, it just seems to have vanished after it attacked you, Arthur. . . . But You-Know-Who can’t have expected a snake to get in, can he?” 

“I reckon he sent it as a lookout,” growled Moody, “ ’cause he’s not had any luck so far, has he? No, I reckon he’s trying to get a clearer picture of what he’s facing and if Arthur hadn’t been there the beast would’ve had much more time to look around. So Potter says he saw it all happen?” 

“Yes,” said Mrs. Weasley. She sounded rather uneasy. “You know, Dumbledore seems almost to have been waiting for Harry to see something like this. . . .” 

“Yeah, well,” said Moody, “there’s something funny about the Potter kid, we all know that.” 

“Dumbledore seemed worried about Harry when I spoke to him this morning,” whispered Mrs. Weasley. 

“ ’Course he’s worried,” growled Moody. “The boy’s seeing things from inside You-Know-Who’s snake. . . . Obviously, Potter doesn’t realize what that means, but if You-Know-Who’s possessing him —”

Emile stared at Harry with the rest of the Weasley’s, no longer paying attention to the words she heard through the Extendable Ear.

This sounds familiar. . .

**_But why would the Dark lord make his worst enemy a Horcrux?_ **

**I don’t know, but as soon as we return to Hogwarts I’m going to do as much research as I can.**


	49. God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriff

Harry was silent the entire train ride home. No one talked to him except Mrs. Weasley, who asked if he was alright. Once they reached Grimmauld Place he went up to his room, leaving the rest of them.

“Well,” Mrs. Weasley watched him go, concern on her face. “I was thinking that we could all put up christmas decorations tomorrow. What do you think, Sirius? Maybe you all could go sort through what you have to see what I should bring from the Burrow?”

“Brilliant, Molly,” Sirius leapt to his feet, beaming around at the group. “Ginny, Ron, clear some space in the dining room for the boxes. Emile, Fred, George, come with me.”

They marched up the stairs towards the attic after Sirius, who was listing off how his mother had once decorated the house and how much he had hated it.

“Maybe I should go talk to him,” he said as they passed the second landing, where Harry and Ron’s bedroom door was closed.

“Let him work it out himself,” Fred whispered back.

After a busy evening of sorting through a pile of black christmas decorations as well as the extra decorations that Mr. Weasley and Bill had brought over from the burrow, everyone went to bed feeling much happier than they had been that afternoon.

The next day they hung up all sorts of baubles and wreaths, decking out the house in christmas spirit. Sirius would often lead them in spontaneous bursts of carols such as “God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs”. It was obvious that he was happy to have company over the holiday’s. 

Harry was still hiding in the house. When Mrs. Weasley called him down for lunch he retreated further up the stairs and continued to ignore them.

“It’s alright, Hermione says she’ll be here this afternoon,” Ron said as he read over a note Pigwidgeon had brought him.

“Man the lifeboats,” Ginny said as she read the letter over her brother’s shoulder.

It was around six o’clock in the evening that the doorbell rang and Mrs. Black started screaming again. Hermione came in with Crookshanks in her arms and her trunk of luggage. Ron quickly briefed her on what had happened and she headed upstairs in a search for their moody Boy Who Lived.

“If she doesn’t talk some sense into him, I’m going to hit him on the head with a frying pan,” Fred muttered to his brother.

“You will do no such thing,” Mrs. Weasley scowled at Fred, hands on her hips. She glared at her son before turning to Emile. “Dear, will you help me carry some sandwiches to Ron’s room?”

“Is that where the peacemaking is happening?” Emile asked as she followed Mrs. Weasley into the kitchen.

“Something like that,” Mrs. Weasley said as she handed Emile a platter of sandwiches.

They followed Ron and Ginny up into Ron and Harry’s room, lighting a fire and leaving the sandwiches in the middle of the room before leaving the group to talk some sense into Harry.

Later that evening Ginny came up to Emile’s room and told her how Harry’s attitude had changed once she had yelled at him about how it was really like to be possessed by Voldemort, and by the next morning he had gone back to being his pubescent, fifth year self. How could anyone stay mad when Sirius was trying so hard to make everyone happy? He was no longer their sullen host, jealous of everyone out on the field and angry that he had to stay behind. 

“Poor bloke could use some more company,” George murmured to Emile as they watch Sirius run off giddily to feed Buckbeak.

Sirius worked tirelessly in the run-up to Christmas Day, cleaning and decorating with their help, so that by the time they all went to bed on Christmas Eve the house was barely recognizable. The tarnished chandeliers were no longer hung with cobwebs but with garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers; magical snow glittered in heaps over the threadbare carpets; a great Christmas tree, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with live fairies, blocked Sirius’s family tree from view; and even the stuffed elf heads on the hall wall wore Father Christmas hats and beards (Courtesy of Fred and Ginny).

When Emile woke on Christmas morning there was a stack of presents on the foot of her bed. It looked a bit smaller this year, and it was with a heavy heart Emile realized that there were two people who would never give her anything ever again. There was no letter from her father, no parcel from Cedric. 

Emile was trying hard not to cry, and decided that opening presents would be too much, so she simply opened Mrs. Weasley’s typical bulky Christmas sweater, this years a grey turtleneck, and slipped it on with her jeans and fuzzy rainbow socks that Mrs. Weasley had also made. The rest of the presents she stacked neatly on top of her bed once she made it, so that she wouldn’t forget to open them later.

Emile headed downstairs for breakfast, only for Fred and George to apparate in front of her.

“Merry Christmas,” Fred said as he shook his silver bell covered Santa hat. 

“Don’t go downstairs for a bit,” George cautioned as he adjusted his own santa hat, this one with golden bells.

“Why not?” Emile looked down the stairs, expecting there to be some sort of prank waiting on them.

“Come to Ron and Harry’s and we’ll explain,” Fred chimed and the two of them disapparated, leaving Emile to follow.

“Merry Christmas,” said George as Emile appeared next to them. “Don’t go downstairs for a bit.” 

“Why not?” said Ron. 

“Mum’s crying again,” said Fred heavily. “Percy sent back his Christmas jumper.” 

“Without a note,” added George. “Hasn’t asked how Dad is or visited him or anything. . . .” 

“We tried to comfort her,” said Fred, moving around the bed to look at something Harry was holding. “Told her Percy’s nothing more than a humongous pile of rat droppings —” 

“— didn’t work,” said George, helping himself to a Chocolate Frog and throwing one to Emile. “So Lupin took over. Best let him cheer her up before we go down for breakfast, I reckon.” 

“What’s that supposed to be anyway?” asked Fred, squinting at the object in Harry’s hands. “Looks like a gibbon with two black eyes.” 

“It’s Harry!” said George, pointing at the back of the picture. “Says so on the back!” 

“Good likeness,” said Fred, grinning. Harry threw a journal at him; it hit the wall opposite and fell to the floor where it said happily, “If you’ve dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s then you may do whatever you please!” 

“Well, Merry Christmas!” George said and the three intruders disapparated into the kitchen, leaving the two boys to get ready.

Once they had had their Christmas lunch, the Weasleys, Emile, Harry, and Hermione were planning to pay Mr. Weasley another visit, escorted by Mad-Eye and Lupin. Mundungus turned up in time for Christmas pudding and trifle, having managed to “borrow” a car for the occasion, as the Underground did not run on Christmas Day. The car had had a similar Enlarging Spell put upon it as the Weasleys’ old Ford Anglia; although normally proportioned outside, eleven people with Mundungus driving were able to fit into it quite comfortably. 

Mrs. Weasley hesitated at the point of getting inside; Emile knew that her disapproval of Mundungus was battling with her dislike of traveling without magic; finally the cold outside and her children’s pleading triumphed, and she settled herself into the backseat between Fred and Bill with good grace. 

“If it make you feel better I can drive, Mrs.Weasley,” Emile offered from the row behind her.

“You can drive?” Fred asked her over the chatter, his eyes twinkling mischievously.

“No thank you Emile, I think this is fine,” Mrs. Weasley called back.

The journey to St. Mungo’s was quite quick, as there was very little traffic on the roads. A small trickle of witches and wizards were creeping furtively up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. Emile and the others got out of the car, and Mundungus drove off around the corner to wait for them; they strolled casually toward the window where the dummy in green nylon stood, then, one by one, stepped through the glass. 

The reception area looked pleasantly festive: The crystal orbs that illuminated St. Mungo’s had been turned to red and gold so that they became gigantic, glowing Christmas baubles; holly hung around every doorway, and shining white Christmas trees covered in magical snow and icicles glittered in every corner, each topped with a gleaming gold star. 

It was less crowded than the last time they had been there, although halfway across the room Emile found herself shunted aside by a witch with a walnut jammed up her left nostril. 

“Family argument, eh?” smirked the blonde witch behind the desk. “You’re the third I’ve seen today . . . Spell Damage, fourth floor . . .” 

They found Mr. Weasley propped up in bed with the remains of his turkey dinner on a tray in his lap and a rather sheepish expression on his face. 

“Everything all right, Arthur?” asked Mrs. Weasley, after they had all greeted Mr. Weasley and handed over their presents. 

“Fine, fine,” said Mr. Weasley, a little too heartily. “You — er — haven’t seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?” 

“No,” said Mrs. Weasley suspiciously, “why?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” said Mr. Weasley airily, starting to unwrap his pile of gifts. “Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry — this is absolutely wonderful —”

For he had just opened Harry’s gift of fuse-wire and screwdrivers. Mrs. Weasley did not seem entirely satisfied with Mr. Weasley’s answer. As her husband leaned over to shake Harry’s hand, she peered at the bandaging under his nightshirt. 

“Arthur,” she said, with a snap in her voice like a mousetrap, “you’ve had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn’t need doing until tomorrow.” 

“What?” said Mr. Weasley, looking rather frightened and pulling the bed covers higher up his chest. “No, no — it’s nothing — it’s — I —” 

He seemed to deflate under Mrs. Weasley’s piercing gaze. “Well — now don’t get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea. . . . He’s the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in . . . um . . . complementary medicine. . . . I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies . . . well, they’re called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on — on Muggle wounds —” 

Mrs. Weasley let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Lupin strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf, who had no visitors and was looking rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley; Bill muttered something about getting himself a cup of tea and Emile, Fred, and George leapt up to accompany him, grinning. 

“Do you mean to tell me,” said Mrs. Weasley, her voice growing louder with every word and apparently unaware that her fellow visitors were scurrying for cover, “that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?” 

“Not messing about, Molly, dear,” said Mr. Weasley imploringly. “It was just — just something Pye and I thought we’d try — only, most unfortunately — well, with these particular kinds of wounds — it doesn’t seem to work as well as we’d hoped —” 

“Meaning?” 

“Well . . . well, I don’t know whether you know what — what stitches are?” 

“It sounds as though you’ve been trying to sew your skin back together,” said Mrs. Weasley with a snort of mirthless laughter, “but even you, Arthur, wouldn’t be that stupid —”

That was the last Emile heard as she followed Bill and the twins out the door.

“Dear old dad,” Fred said with a grin.

“Whatever would we do without him?” George laughed as they began climbing up a rickety staircase to the fifth floor.

“You two would probably get away with a lot less,” Bill called back, and they all laughed.

The tea room with large and square, circular tables scattered around and squashy armchairs here and there. One wall was lined with windows that showed a vast forest, purple mountains in the distance.

“Enchanted windows, magical maintenance decides the weather and scenery,” Bill explained as the approached the counter in the middle.

They sat down at a table in the middle, Emile sipping on peppermint hot chocolate and spacing out. She still wasn’t sleeping very well, and it was hard for her to pay attention.

**_It’s the most-_ **

**No**

**_Wonderful time-_ **

**Please stop**

**_Of the Year._ **

**That song is going to be stuck in my head because of you, Barty.**

**_Then I will have achieved something._ **

**You’ll have to listen to it for hours.**

**_Not as exciting anymore. I’m done._ **

**Good.**

**_So, have you realized that your mother is here?_ **

**Yes.**

**_Fourth floor, end of the corridor. Just saying._ **

**I’m not going.**

**_Why not?_ **

“Is she alright?” Bills whisper caught her attention and brought her back to the present.

“She’s fine, it happens a lot now,” George whispered, his voice catching.

“I can hear you,” Emile looked at them and smiled. “Sorry, I’m a bit tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.”

“For what several months?” Fred joked.

“Exactly,” Emile said and took a last gulp of hot chocolate. “Shall we go?”

When they got back to Grimmauld Place Emile opened up the rest of her presents. She got the first official Skiving Snackbox from the twins, something that they were very proud of. Ginny had gotten her a few pairs of socks from Gladrags, including the screaming ones. Lee and Nathan had gotten her Wandlore: The Art of Crafting the Ultimate Magical Tool, something she was very happy with. It came with diagrams and extra tips, as well as a few wood carving tools. Angelina and Alicia had sent her a few articles of clothing from her closet as well as a few they had bought her for Christmas. Emile’s favorite was a soft t-shirt with the Puddlemere United team logo.

The rest of the holiday’s they spent lounging about the house. Nothing out of the ordinary happened until the last day of holiday, when Snape showed up at one of the meetings. Emile, who had been listening in on reports and complaints about the guarding of the weapon, immediately left the room when he came in, knowing she was about to be excused anyways.

She went up to the twins room, where she found Fred and George engaged in an intense game of Wizards chess.

“Hiya Em,” Fred called as she closed their door. “Came to watch me beat your boyfriend?”

“You know, I was going to go easy on you,” George said with a grin,”but if you’re going to have such an attitude then you leave me no choice. King to B-2, and I believe that’s checkmate.”

Fred looked at the board, then up at George, then back at the board again.

“Damn it,” he whispered under his breath as Emile and George high fived.

“Alright Emile, you can play the winner,” George pushed his brother out of the way. “Accio Emile’s wizards chess set.”

Halfway into the game Mrs. Weasley came into the room, but they were all so focused on the game that no one noticed. 

“Squash him — squash him, he’s only a pawn, you idiot — sorry, Mrs. Weasley, what did you say?” 

“Professor Snape, dear. In the kitchen. He’d like a word.” 

Emile stared at Mrs. Weasley, then back at Fred and George, who knew she had stopped going to Occlumency lessons with the potions master.

“Might as well see what Snape wants,” Fred shrugged.

“Professor Snape, Fred,” Mrs. Weasley snapped at her son before pulling Emile out of the room.

She pushed open the kitchen door a minute or two later to find Sirius and Snape both seated at the long kitchen table, glaring in opposite directions. The silence between them was heavy with mutual dislike. A letter lay open on the table in front of Sirius. 

“Ah, Emile,” Sirius closed the litter. “This isn’t about you, don’t worry.”

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say it’s about Harry,” Emile smiled at Sirius.

“Quite right, but I can’t say what exactly about Harry,” Sirius smiled back and Snape let out a sigh.

“Another wild guess, Snape’s going to teach him Occlumency-”

“Professor, Miss Gorska.”

“-because the Dark Lord keeps invading his mind,” Emile finished as if Snape hadn’t said anything.

“Miss Gorska, since when do you refer to you-know-who as the Dark Lord?” Snape said as he stared at Emile.

“I was just about to ask the same thing,” Sirius said with a swift glare at Severus Snape.

“Since I was turned into a bloody Horcrux,” Emile crossed her arms and stared at Professor Snape.

**_Oh, yes. You tell them, Emile._ **

**You stay out of this, Bartemius.**

“But, Miss Gorska, are you aware as to what a Horcrux is and how it works?” Snape stared back at Emile and pulled something out of his robes as she stared at him, caught off guard. “I spoke with Professor Dumbledore and he quite agrees you ought to know more about what exactly Barty Crouch jr. has done to your body.”

“He prefers to be called Barty,” Emile said quietly as she took the dusty old book from Professor Snape. “Thank you, Professor.”

Emile brushed some of the dust off of the cover, reading the title of the book aloud. “ _ Secrets of the Darkest Arts _ , by Owle Bullock.”

“Dumbledore also mentioned that he would like I if you continued practicing the art of Occlumency with me, but I believe it is your decision,” Snape sat back down and looked at her through beady eyes.

“Oh . . .” Emile stared at the book in her hands, unsure of how to respond.

“I’m in a hurry, Miss Gorska, so when you come to a decision you know where you can find me,” Snape nodded towards the door.

“Thank you, again,” Emile said quietly before leaving the room, passing by Harry as she climbed up the stairs. 

**_Well, that was odd._ **

**He was being nice to me.**

**_I did tell you that you’re his favorite Gryffindor._ **

**Why?**

**_I have no idea. Personally, I found Dean and Seamus interesting._ **

**Is it because they’re gay?**

**_Exactly._ **


	50. Death Eaters Rising

After a hurried breakfast they pulled on jackets and scarves against the chilly gray January morning. Saying goodbye to Sirius was hard, he had done so much for them and he didn’t even realize it. At least this time he wasn’t bitter about them going to school.

“Goodbye Emile, take care of yourself,” Mrs Weasley hugged her before letting go.

“I will, don’t worry,” Emile smiled and hugged back before picking up her trunk. Carrot was snoozing in the pocket of her sweater, squeaking and twitching now and then as she dreamt. 

“See you Harry, and keep an eye out for snakes for me!” said Mr. Weasley genially, shaking Harry’s hand as Emile squeezed past them.

The door of number twelve slammed shut behind them. They followed Lupin down the front steps. As she reached the pavement, Emile looked around. Number twelve was shrinking rapidly as those on either side of it stretched sideways, squeezing it out of sight; one blink later, it had gone. 

“Come on, the quicker we get on the bus the better,” said Tonks, nervously looking around the square. Lupin flung out his right arm. 

BANG. A violently purple, triple-decker bus had appeared out of thin air in front of them, narrowly avoiding the nearest lamppost, which jumped backward out of its way. 

A thin, pimply, jug-eared youth in a purple uniform leapt down onto the pavement and said, “Welcome to the —” 

“Yes, yes, we know, thank you,” said Tonks swiftly. “On, on, get on —” 

And she shoved Harry forward toward the steps, past the conductor, who goggled at Harry as he passed. “ ’Ere — it’s ’Arry — !” 

“If you shout his name I will curse you into oblivion,” muttered Tonks menacingly, now shunting Ginny and Hermione forward. 

“I’ve always wanted to go on this thing,” said Ron happily, hopping on board and looking around. 

“Looks like we’ll have to split up,” said Tonics briskly, looking around for empty chairs. “Fred, George, Emile, and Ginny, if you just take those seats at the back . . . Remus can stay with you. . . .”

They sat down in the last row of seats, their trunks stowed above them. Stan Shunpike, the conductor, came over to them and they handed him eleven sickles each.

“I’ve always wanted to ride this,” Fred echoed his brother with a grin at Lupin.

“That might change,” Lupin said grimly, holding tightly onto his seat.

BANG. 

Chairs slid backward again as the Knight Bus jumped from the Birmingham motorway to a quiet country lane full of hairpin bends. Hedgerows on either side of the road were leaping out of their way as they mounted the verges. From here they moved to a main street in the middle of a busy town, then to a viaduct surrounded by tall hills, then to a windswept road between high-rise flats, each time with a loud BANG. 

“I’ve changed my mind,” muttered Fred, picking himself up from the floor for the sixth time, “I never want to ride on here again.” 

“Listen, it’s ’Ogwarts stop after this,” said Stan brightly, swaying toward them. “That bossy woman up front ’oo got on with you, she’s given us a little tip to move you up the queue. We’re just gonna let Madam Marsh off first, though —” There was retching from somewhere in front of them, followed by a horrible spattering sound. “She’s not feeling ’er best.” 

Emile leaned over and opened one of the bus windows, trying not to gag. 

A few minutes later the Knight Bus screeched to a halt outside a small pub, which squeezed itself out of the way to avoid a collision. They could see Stan ushering the unfortunate Madam Marsh out of the bus and the relieved murmurings of her fellow passengers on the second deck. 

The bus moved on again, gathering speed, until — BANG. They were rolling through a snowy Hogsmeade. Emile caught a glimpse of the Hog’s Head down its side street, the severed boar’s head sign creaking in the wintry wind. Flecks of snow hit the large window at the front of the bus. At last they rolled to a halt outside the gates to Hogwarts. Lupin and Tonks helped them off the bus with their luggage and then got off to say good-bye. 

“You’ll be safe once you’re in the grounds,” said Tonks, casting a careful eye around at the deserted road. “Have a good term, okay?” 

“Look after yourselves,” said Lupin, shaking hands all round.

“I’ll miss you, Tonks,” Emile said as she hugged the Auror.

“We’ll be seeing you soon, and once you graduate you can join the Order full time,” Tonks smiled at Emile before waving goodbye as she got onto the bus with Lupin.

The six of them struggled up the slippery drive toward the castle dragging their trunks. Hermione was already talking about knitting a few elf hats before bedtime. George was talking to Fred about some new project they were planning out, and Ron was wondering what would be served for dinner.

Not much happened until the next day, when Ron told the twins that Harry and Cho were going to Hogsmeade together on Valentine’s Day.

“A Hogsmeade trip on Valentine’s Day is a big deal, right?” Nathan asked nervously.

“Why, do you plan on asking someone?” Emile looked over curiously.

“No, but I would like to know which popular snogging areas to avoid,” Nathan said with a grin and Emile and Lee laughed,

“I know I won’t be asking anyone,” Fred said with an eye roll. 

“Blimey, not even Angelina?” Emile raised her eyebrows.

Fred turned a slight shade of pink and mumbled something incoherently. 

Nathan gave Emile a high five and they headed back to the common room with Lee.

After finishing up a Charms essay on the Protean Charm that was much longer this term (another reminder that N.E.W.T.’s were approaching at a dizzying speed), Emile went to her room and after putting Carrot in her hamster ball to run around for a bit, curled up under the loft bed in a pile of pillows to read more of  _ Secrets of the Darkest Arts _ . 

**Look at this, an entire chapter about the destruction of Horcruxes.**

**_Dear Lord._ **

**Horcruxes can be destroyed. If a person's body is destroyed, his or her soul would remain intact, whereas with a Horcrux, it is the opposite, as the piece of soul depended upon its container to survive. The destruction of a Horcrux is difficult, but not impossible, and required that the receptacle to be damaged completely beyond physical or magical repair. When a Horcrux was damaged to that point, it may appear to "bleed" and a scream may be heard as the soul fragment perished. However, as a safety measure to protect one's immortality and precious soul fragment, the creator would usually place powerful enchantments onto the artefact to prevent damage, to the point where the most powerful house-elf magic would not succeed.**

**_Well what can you do, Avada Kedavra yourself?_ **

**You never know. Anything can happen these days.**

**_I’m not going to argue with you there. It’s more likely to happen if you join that Order._ **

**I intend to join as soon as I graduate.**

**_Alright._ **

**You aren’t going to argue?**

**_Would I be able to convince you otherwise?_ **

**No.**

**_Then there isn’t much of a point, is there?_ **

Emile snapped the book shut and darted out of the room, sliding down the bannister on the stairs with the book in hand.

**_Where are you going?_ **

**I need to talk to Professor Snape.**

Emile climbed out of the portrait hole and ran down to the dungeons, where Professor Snape’s office was, the door slightly open. Emile paused outside, hearing voices coming out.

“There are many things in the Department of Mysteries, Potter, few of which you would understand and none of which concern you, do I make myself plain?” 

“Yes,” came the voice of Harry, who must have just finished an Occlumency lesson. 

“I want you back here same time on Wednesday, and we will continue work then.” 

“Fine,” said Harry. 

“You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep — empty it, make it blank and calm, you understand?” 

“Yes,” came a mumble. 

“And be warned, Potter . . . I shall know if you have not practiced . . .” 

“Right,” Harry mumbled. A series of scuffles followed, and Emile pressed herself against the wall as Harry left the room and walked away from her, climbing the stairs to the library. 

Once he had gone she knocked twice on the door and strode in, not waiting for an invitation inside.

“I have a few questions,” She said as she paced back and forth.

“By all means, let yourself in. I can’t give you detention or anything,” Snape frowned as he organized his desk and sat down, rubbing his knee.

“Are you alright?” Emile said as she sat down across from him.

“Your questions, Miss Gorska,” he snapped and glared at her, his eyes cold.

“What if that was one of them?” Emile crossed her arms and stared at the Professor defiantly.

“Then it was a stupid question,” Snape snapped at her. “You can leave if you have nothing of value to say.”

“Horcruxes can only be destroyed if it’s something that harms it beyond repair, but the book doesn’t say what,” Emile placed Secrets of the Darkest Arts on the desk and looked at the Professor.

“Can your friend tell you what it takes to destroy a Horcrux inside a person?” Snape sniffed and glared at Emile’s forehead, something she tried hard not to laugh at.

“He mentioned the Avada Kedavra, but there has to be more then that,” Emile pulled out a pen and notebook from her bag, flipping to a blank page.

Snape looked at the pen for a moment before speaking slowly. “Well, the Avada Kedavra is definitely one of the ways. Even my knowledge of Horcruxes is limited, but some theories suggest that Basilisk Venom and Fiendfyre can also be used to destroy a Horcrux.”

“But I was attacked with Fiendfyre at the World Cup-”

“Ah, but there’s the catch. Bartemius didn’t turn you into a Horcrux till after he attacked you, and he didn’t burn you bad enough to kill you.”

**_Thank him for me._ **

**Why?**

**_He called me Bartemius._ **

“What does he say?” Snape asked at that moment.

“He say’s thank you for calling him Bartemius,” Emile said quietly as she closed the notebook.

Snape’s eyes softened a little at this comment, but before Emile could be sure they were back to being cold.

“Is that all?” he asked, standing up from his desk.

“No.”

Snape’s long cloak billowed around him as he sat back down.

“So there’s no way I can ever be normal again?” Emile said quietly, looking down at her hands.

Snape looked at her curiously. “I didn’t say that you can’t be normal.”

“You might as well have,” Emile frowned and looked back up.

“Well if you aren’t ready to listen we can move on. Any more questions?”

“Is Harry a horcrux?”

This question took Snape completely by surprise. His eyes widened and he nearly fell out of his chair.

“What makes you say that?” He said sharply as he sat back up, face slightly flushed.

“I’ve just noticed some similarities between me and how Harry has been acting recently-”

“I’m afraid this information is confiden – ”

“So I’ll take that as a yes.”

Snape stared at Emile, his lips pressing together.

“Come on, it’s not like I’m going to tell him!” Emile said with a cruel laugh. “I don’t want him to feel as hopeless as I do. I couldn’t be that mean”

“So you understand why both you and Harry ought to take Occlumency?” Snape gave Emile a questioning look.

“I understand why he has to take it, but why should I?” Emile shrugged. “I’m nothing special.”

“Unfortunately for you, Miss Gorska, you became a special interest of Lord Voldemort’s as soon as he sensed that part of Bartemius survived the Dementor’s kiss. I strongly urge you to resume taking lessons. The Dark Lord know the feeling of Bartimeus’ mind, if he senses it in you you could be in grave danger.”

“How do you know that?” Emile stared at him in shock.

“I will answer no more questions tonight. Good Night, Miss Gorska.”

Emile stood up and walked out of the room, turning to Snape as he held the door open for her.

“But – ”

With a loud slam the door slammed shut, leaving her to wander back to the common room through the silent corridors.

The common room was packed and full of shrieks of laughter and excitement; Fred and George were demonstrating their latest bit of joke shop merchandise. 

“Headless Hats!” shouted George, as Fred waved a pointed hat decorated with a fluffy pink feather at the watching students. “Two Galleons each — watch Fred, now!” 

Fred swept the hat onto his head, beaming. For a second he merely looked rather stupid, then both hat and head vanished. Several girls screamed, but everyone else was roaring with laughter. 

“And off again!” shouted George, and Fred’s hand groped for a moment in what seemed to be thin air over his shoulder; then his head reappeared as he swept the pink-feathered hat from it again. 

“How do those hats work, then?” said Hermione, distracted from her homework and watching Fred and George. “I mean, obviously it’s some kind of Invisibility Spell, but it’s rather clever to have extended the field of invisibility beyond the boundaries of the charmed object. . . . I’d imagine the charm wouldn’t have a very long life though. . . .” 

“An entrepreneur never reveals his secrets,” George grinned at Hermione and looked over at Emile, his smiled fading as he saw her worried expression. He was soon distracted by Harry, who was passing by, and tried to put a Headless Hat on his head. While his attention was drawn away Emile slipped up the stairs and into her room, hopping into bed as quickly as she could.

**_Wake up!_ **

Emile sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, feeling around the space for her glasses.

**_Emile you’ve overslept, and something happened. People keep talking anxiously as they walk by._ **

**What happened?**

**_That’s what I want to find out, but seeing as I can’t leave your head, it’s a little hard._ **

Emile got dressed in robes quickly, running down to the great hall, where she managed to snag the last piece of toast as she sat down next to Nathan.

“What happened?” She asked as she looked over the Daily Prophet he was holding. 

“There was a mass breakout from Azkaban, all ex Death Eaters,” He mumbled through a mouthful of eggs.

“Give it to me,” Emile said as Nathan handed over the paper. Sure enough, the scowling faces of witches and wizards were smirking up at her.

**_Antonin Dolohov, Augustus Rookwood_ ** **_–_ **

Emile tried to ignore the sound of Bartemius reading the names as her eyes were drawn to the picture of the witch. Her face had leapt out at her the moment he had seen the page. She had long, dark hair that looked unkempt and straggly in the picture, though she had seen it sleek, thick, and shining. She glared up at Emile through heavily lidded eyes, an arrogant, disdainful smile playing around her thin mouth. Like Sirius, she retained vestiges of great good looks, but something — perhaps Azkaban — had taken most of her beauty.  _ Bellatrix Lestrange, convicted of the torture and permanent incapacitation of Frank and Alice Longbottom. _

**_They don’t give me any credit._ **

**Shut up.**

Emile blocked out Bartemius and stared up at the staff table, searching for the potions master. Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were deep in conversation, both looking extremely grave. Professor Sprout had the Prophet propped against a bottle of ketchup and was reading the front page with such concentration that she was not noticing the gentle drip of egg yolk falling into her lap from her stationary spoon. Meanwhile, at the far end of the table, Professor Umbridge was tucking into a bowl of porridge. For once her pouchy toad’s eyes were not sweeping the Great Hall looking for misbehaving students. She scowled as she gulped down her food and every now and then she shot a malevolent glance up the table to where Dumbledore and McGonagall were talking so intently. And Snape was nowhere to be found.

New signs had appeared on the house notice boards the morning after news of the Azkaban breakout: 

— by order of — 

The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts 

Teachers are hereby banned from giving students any information that is not strictly related to the subjects they are paid to teach. 

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-six. 

Signed: 

Dolores Jane Umbridge

High Inquisitor 

Later that day In Defense Against the Dark Arts, Lee had pointed out to Umbridge that by the terms of the new rule she was not allowed to tell Fred and George off for playing Exploding Snap in the back of the class. 

“Exploding Snap’s got nothing to do with Defense Against the Dark Arts, Professor! That’s not information relating to your subject!” 

When Emile next saw Lee, the back of his hand was bleeding rather badly.

“What happened?” She asked in a shrill voice, grabbing his arm to get a closer look at his hand, where the words “I shall not disrespect my superiors” were scratched into his flesh.

“Don’t get detention with Umbridge,” he whispered to her, his face a bit pale.

“We need to heal this,” Emile mumbled, dropping his arm.

“Harry recommended Essence of Murtlap,” Lee mumbled. “He had detention with her earlier this year.”

“I’m sorry,” Emile sighed as they entered the common room.

“It isn’t your fault,” he shrugged.

That evening, Emile went to see Snape yet again.

“What can I do for you, Miss Gorska?” he asked as she entered his office, not looking up from some papers he was grading.

“I have a problem, Professor,” Emile sat down across from him. “Yesterday morning I blocked Barty out and now I can’t seem to unblock him.”

Snape looked up, an amused expression on his face. “Is that a problem for you?”

“I’ve grown too used to his sarcastic comments throughout the day,” Emile grumbled. “And there’s a few things I would like to talk about with him.”

“Related to the recent Azkaban breakout?” Snape said with a satisfied smirk.

“No, a muggle cooking show,” Emile crossed her arms and glared at Snape. “What else would I need to talk to him about?”

“Miss Gorska, if you cannot unblock him it is simply because you do not want to. There’s nothing I can do.”

“There has to be something,” Emile begged. “If I learned to block people out, then I can learn to let people in.”

“That’s exactly how people learn to invade other’s minds,” Snape snapped. “It’s not a skill I take pride in, Emile. Legilimency is a delicate art and should not be abused anymore then it already has been.”

“I just want to talk to a friend,” Emile begged, a tear forming in her right eye.

Snape let out a cold laugh. “You call that creature a friend? What you’re talking to is an echo, child. Nothing more than a small piece of the person he used to be, and you would not have liked who he once was.”

**_Is that right?_ **

**Bartemius!**

**_Did you miss me? You know, after you blocked me out?_ **

**I’m sorry, and yes, I did.**

**_Well, now you know how to do that. You’re pretty good, I think that if you were caught by the Dark Lord it would take a lot to break you._ **

**That’s very nice of you to say, did you miss me too?**

**_Not like I have anyone else to talk to._ **

“Don’t ignore me,” Snape snapped.

“I’m not ignoring you, Professor,” Emile beamed at the potions master. “I just unblocked my own mind, without your help. I did that on my own. I think that I’m pretty good with Occlumency, don’t you?”

“Let’s test that, shall we?” Snape raised his wand. “I will focus on one fact, one bit of information that I will want to find. And you will attempt to block me out.”

“I’m ready when you are,” Emile smirked back, closing her eyes as she cleared her mind.

“Legimence!” 

Emile fought against the brutal attack on her mind, fighting to infiltrate Snape’s in return. What was it that he was searching for? What single thought could cause her to break down?

George Weasley.

The name rang through her mind. Emile couldn’t help it, memories began to flood in of George. The day they met, her first trip to the burrow, her first Christmas at Hogwarts, the Yule Ball –

It took all of her concentration, but Emile eventually managed to fight off Snape’s attack.

They sat there, gasping and glaring at each other.

“If you want to keep the people you care about safe, Miss Gorska, then I suggest you start meeting me here Thursdays after your Astronomy class.”


	51. Don't Need Game, I've Got Games

With so much to worry about and so much to do — startling amounts of homework that frequently kept the seventh years working until past midnight, secret D.A. meetings, and regular classes with Snape — January seemed to be passing alarmingly fast. February had arrived, bringing with it wetter and warmer weather and the prospect of the second Hogsmeade visit of the year. 

Angelina was staring across the common room at Fred. It was the night before the Valentine’s Hogsmeade trip and tension was running high throughout the school as males and females of all houses felt the social pressure to get a date for Valentine’s Day.

“Should I just ask him?” Angelina asked Emile for the hundredth time.

“It’s up to you, I told you already that I don’t want any drama,” Emile said with an eye roll. “Angelina, you can either sit here and ask me another twenty times or go get it over with.”

“I kind of want to have a full day of training. . .”

Emile stared at Angelina. “If you do that, I’’m skipping.”

“Emile,” Angelina pleaded.

“I’m serious. I need a break and so do you.”

“Alright then, skip. You aren’t the one who needs to work on their skills anyways. I’d take a clone of you over Kirke any day,” Angelina gave Emile a tired smile.

“Wow, alright then,” Emile stared at her Quidditch captain. “Thanks, Angie.”

“You owe me one!” Angelina called after Emile as she went to make plans with the twins.

The next morning Emile woke up earlier then usual, stomping up to the boys Dormitory fully dressed in her black trenchcoat and the grey beanie and sweater from Cedric. She knocked several times on the door before going in without an invitation.

“Do you mind?” Lee yelped and drew his curtains closed.

“Do you always change in the open?” Emile laughed at Lee before turning to the twins. “What’s taking you so long?”

“Nat is taking his time,” Fred grumbled and gestured to the closed bathroom door.

“Nathaniel you get out here right now!” Emile yelled and pounded on the door. “What takes him so long?”

“I’ve got no idea,” George shrugged.

“This hair doesn’t style itself,” Nathan darted out of the restroom and grabbed his coat off of a hanger.

“That’s terrible,” Fred groaned as they headed out of the dorm.

“Hey Fred, what if we made some witch targeted products?” George said after a moment of thought.

“I like where you’re going with this, George,” Fred grinned.

“I don’t,” Emile said with an eye roll.

They joined the queue of people being signed out by Filch, snickering amongst themselves at Harry and Cho, who were standing awkwardly nearby. It was a fresh, breezy sort of day and as they passed the Quidditch stadium, they glimpsed Ron and Ginny skimming over the stands on their brooms.

“Maybe it’s best that we aren’t on the team anymore,” Fred grinned.”A Quidditch team fifty percent Weasley would be hard to handle.”

They wandered toward Dervish and Banges. A large poster had been stuck up in the window and a few Hogsmeaders were looking at it. They moved aside when the Hogwarts students approached and Emile found herself staring once more at the ten pictures of the escaped Death Eaters. The poster (“By Order of the Ministry of Magic”) offered a thousand-Galleon reward to any witch or wizard with information relating to the recapture of any of the convicts pictured. 

“It’s funny, isn’t it,” said Lee in a low voice, also gazing up at the pictures of the Death Eaters. “Remember when that Sirius Black escaped, and there were dementors all over Hogsmeade looking for him? And now ten Death Eaters are on the loose and there aren’t dementors anywhere. . . .” 

“Yeah,” said Emile, tearing her eyes away from Bellatrix Lestrange’s face to glance up at Fred and George. “Yeah, it is weird. . . .” 

The ten escaped Death Eaters were staring out of every shop window they passed. It started to rain as they passed Scrivenshaft’s; cold, heavy drops of water kept hitting Emile’s face.

“It’s freezing, let’s take cover in Zonko’s,” Lee said with a grin at Fred.

“If you want to go shop at Zonko’s just say it. I just want to get out of this rain,” Emile grumbled as they went into the colorful joke shop.

Emile and Nathan sat by the window as the twins and Lee loaded up on items such as dungbombs, frog spawn soap, and nose biting teacups.

“It’s one heck of a Valentine’s Day,” Emile smiled at Nathan as they stared across the street into Madame Puddlefoots, where Harry and Cho had just entered.

“I bet you any moment now someone’s going to dramatically run out of there,” Nathan grinned and leaned forward, squinting as he tried to see into the shop across the street.

Five minutes passed, then ten minutes. Fred and George came over and asked their opinion on the purchases they were making. Then, movement inside the tea shop. 

“Look at that!” Fred pressed against the glass as Cho came running out of the tea shop, sobbing.

“Blimey,” Nathan laughed. “It’s so nice not to be part of the drama.”

“How bad of a kisser can you be, Harry?” Emile said incredulously, earning a laugh from the boys around her. 

They watched from the window as Harry came stomping out of the shop, grumbling angrily as he marched down the street through the downpour.

“I’d like to run to Honeydukes, I’m low on power snacks,” Emile said as they paused by the shop door, the twins and Lee carrying a large amount of bags and parcels.

“Sounds good, as long as we run to avoid the rain,” George grinned.

“Try not to splash anyone!” Emile yelled as she ran out of the shop, running along the soaked street with her hands in her pockets and head lowered against the wind.

They ran into Honeydukes, the bell tinkling joyfully as the soaking wizards and witch dashed into the store, Nathan almost sliding into the counter.

“I’m not very wet!” Lee said gleefully, placing his bags down behind the counter before going to look around. 

“You’re hair is soaked, step outside and shake it out,” Emile scolded and shoved Lee out the door. He shook himself like a dog before coming back in, his poofy hair glistening.

“I wonder if I could get my sister to eat these if I told her they were peanuts,” Nathan mused as he looked over the cockroach clusters. 

“You have a sister?” Emile stared.

Nathan laughed. “Yeah, her name is Adelaide. She’s a friend of Fleur’s little sister, Gabrielle.”

“Oh, the one Harry saved during the second task?”

“That’s the one.”

“Emile why would you want to come here if you’re just going to stand around and talk?” Fred marched over. “We can talk in the Three Broomsticks.”

“Alright, alright,” Emile grinned at Fred. “Let me get a few things first.”

Emile purchased a lot of sweets, cream filled chocolate balls, a box of Droobles Best Blowing Gum, various truffles, a tin of treacle fudge and a box of chocolate frogs.

“How do you run out of candy so fast?” George mused as Emile picked up the heavy bag of sweets.

“I eat while I study,” Emile smiled up at him. “You know, study for my N.E.W.T.’s? Those tests you aren’t planning on taking?”

“Alright, mom. I get what you’re trying to say,” George said with an eye roll and the group ran out of the shop and into the pub across the street. 

After a mug of butterbeer the rain had paused, so they headed up to the castle while it remained that way. After dropping off their purchases in their rooms Fred, George, and Emile went to watch the rest of the Quidditch practice.

“Emile!” Angelina flew down to her, her face looking extremely anxious. “It’s a disaster. I’m going to cry.”

“No, you aren’t,” Emile grabbed Angelina by the shoulders.” You are every bit as good of a captain as Oliver and it’s not your fault that the beaters suck. How about you end the session now and you can do some one-on-one training with Ron later. I’ll take Kirke out too.”

Angelina gave Emile a hug before flying back up to the team, dismissing them from the field. Everyone looked depressed as they marched back to the castle, caked in mud.

“This is depressing,” Fred commented as they followed the group, heading to the common room. Inside they went over to talk with Harry and Hermione.

“Ron and Ginny not here?” asked Fred, looking around as he pulled up a chair and, when Harry shook his head, he said, “Good. We were watching their practice. They’re going to be slaughtered. They’re complete rubbish without us.” 

“Come on, Ginny’s not bad,” said George fairly, sitting down next to Fred. “Actually, I dunno how she got so good, seeing how we never let her play with us. . . .” 

“She’s been breaking into your broom shed in the garden since the age of six and taking each of your brooms out in turn when you weren’t looking,” said Hermione from behind her tottering pile of Ancient Rune books. 

“Oh,” said George, looking mildly impressed. “Well — that’d explain it.” 

“Has Ron saved a goal yet?” asked Hermione, peering over the top of Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms. 

“Well, he can do it if he doesn’t think anyone’s watching him,” said Fred, rolling his eyes. “So all we have to do is ask the crowd to turn their backs and talk among themselves every time the Quaffle goes up his end on Saturday.” 

He got up again and moved restlessly to the window, staring out across the dark grounds. 

“You know, Quidditch was about the only thing in this place worth staying for.” 

Hermione cast him a stern look. “You’ve got exams coming!”

“Told you already, we’re not fussed about N.E.W.T.s,” said Fred. “The Snackboxes are ready to roll, we found out how to get rid of those boils, just a couple of drops of murtlap essence sorts them, Lee put us onto it. . . .” 

George yawned widely and looked out disconsolately at the cloudy night sky. “I dunno if I even want to watch this match. If Zacharias Smith beats us I might have to kill myself.” 

“Kill him, more like,” said Fred firmly. 

“That’s the trouble with Quidditch,” said Hermione absentmindedly, once again bent over her Rune translation, “it creates all this bad feeling and tension between the Houses.” 

She looked up to find her copy of Spellman’s Syllabary and caught Fred, George, and Harry looking at her with expressions of mingled disgust and incredulity on their faces. “Well, it does!” she said impatiently. “It’s only a game, isn’t it?” 

“Hermione,” said Harry, shaking his head, “you’re good on feelings and stuff, but you just don’t understand about Quidditch.” 

“Maybe not,” she said darkly, returning to her translation again, “but at least my happiness doesn’t depend on Ron’s goalkeeping ability.” 

Emile wasn’t paying much attention to the dispute in front of her. She was worried about Fred and George. Were they really planning to leave Hogwarts? Their education? Her?

By Saturday, Emile had grown more quiet and antisocial then she had been for a long time. If anyone noticed over the stress of the upcoming match, Emile didn’t know. But after the match, she didn’t really care.

The very best thing you could say about the match was that it was short; the Gryffindor spectators had to endure only twenty-two minutes of agony. It was hard to say what the worst thing was: Emile thought it was a close-run contest between Ron’s fourteenth failed save, and Kirke shrieking and falling backward off his broom as Zacharias Smith zoomed at him carrying the Quaffle. The miracle was that Gryffindor only lost by ten points: Ginny managed to snatch the Snitch from right under Hufflepuff Seeker Summerby’s nose, so that the final score was two hundred and forty versus two hundred and thirty. 

Emile didn’t return to the common room until well past dinner, the sky outside had grown dark and the wind grew too cold for her to bear. Instead of heading to bed she sat down in front of the fire, sitting sprawled out in an armchair. She watched the fire slowly die, sitting in silence as a house elf came and lit it again before scampering off to clean the common room.

“Mistress Emile?” It squeaked after a few minute, wandering closer to where she sat.

“Kringle? Is that you?” Emile squinted into the shadows.

“Yes! The Mistress remembers Kringle’s name!” the house elf sat on the arm of the squashy armchair, dressed in an old flower print tea cozy. 

“How have you been?” Emile asked with a small smile.

“Kringle has been quite well, Mistress Emile. But Mistress is upset, Kringle can see,” the house elf blinked her big eyes up at Emile. “Would Mistress like some chamomile tea?”

“Oh, Kringle. You don’t have-”

Emile hadn’t even finished the sentence when Kringle disapparated, returning a minute later with a platter that she layed by the fire. It contained a tea pot and an empty cup, as well as a small platter of warm crescent rolls. 

“Thank you,” Emile said as the elf bowed and disapparated again.

Emile summoned her sketchbook and pencils, sipping tea and chewing on the soft crescent rolls as she attempted to draw away her stress. She stared at the drawing in front of her, pleased with the way the texture of the hair had turned out.

“What’s that you got there?” a voice behind Emile caused her to jump. 

“Blimey, Lee!” Emile punched her friend in the arm as he sat down next to her. “You startled me.”

“Emile, it’s two in the morning. You’re going to be dead in Charms,” Lee scolded and helped himself to the last crescent roll.

“Well what’s your excuse?” Emile said as she smiled at her friend.

“I was going to get a drink of water,” Lee said with a nod to the pitchers of water and cups in the middle of the room.”

“You don’t have a cup in your room you can use?”

Lee let out a sigh. “I did, but then Fred enchanted it so that any liquid that goes into it evaporates, so it’s not much use now.”

“You gotta love Fred,” Emile rolled her eyes.

Lee smiled but didn’t respond. They sat in silence for a few minutes, Emile sipping her tea and Lee finishing the crescent roll. 

“Emile?”

“Hm?”

“Is this weird now? Us being friends?”

Emile stared at Lee, unsure of what he was referring to. “Oh! Oh, you mean the Yule Ball, when you said the thing. Oh. No, it’s not weird.”

“Oh thank Merlin,” Lee grinned and leaned back against the armchair. “Is it alright if I say that dating sounds like a bad idea?”

“No, I completely agree,” Emile stared into the fire. “We’re going to have so much to do, N.E.W.T.’s, Graduation, then finding a job and moving out.”

“Exactly, maybe when everything settles down I’ll ring you up,” Lee smiled at poked Emile in the ribs.

“I’ll anxiously await your call,” Emile smirked at Lee before draining her cup of tea and standing up, taking her things to her room. “Goodnight, Lee.”

“Goodnight, Emile.”

**_Gosh, that was awkward._ **

**Bartemius, you speak at last.**

**_I’m not good at comforting people, or at third wheeling._ **

**You are good at interrupting and making sarcastic comments.**

**_I take pride in my abilities._ **

**Good for you.**

The following morning Emile was eating bacon next to Angelina when several loud owl screeches came from down the table. Harry Potter was sitting with Ron and Hermione, surrounded by envelopes of all shapes and sizes.

“I’m going to ask Fred and George what’s going on,” Emile said as she stood up and walked over to the twins.

“Em!” Fred cried and dragged her over. “Get a load of this!”

HARRY POTTER SPEAKS OUT AT LAST: THE TRUTH ABOUT HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED AND THE NIGHT I SAW HIM RETURN 

“It’s good, isn’t it?” said Luna, who had drifted over to the Gryffindor table and now squeezed herself onto the bench between Fred and Ron. “It came out yesterday, I asked Dad to send you a free copy. I expect all these,” she waved a hand at the assembled owls still scrabbling around on the table in front of Harry, “are letters from readers.” 

“That’s what I thought,” said Hermione eagerly, “Harry, d’you mind if we — ?” 

“Help yourself,” said Harry.

Emile flipped through the copy of The Quibbler, her gut wrenching as she read over Cedric’s death. “When did this happen? The interview, not the bit about the Dark Lord returning.”

“Hogsmeade weekend,” George mumbled around a mouthful of toast.

“This one’s from a bloke who thinks you’re off your rocker,” said Ron, glancing down his letter. “Ah well . . .” 

“This woman recommends you try a good course of Shock Spells at St. Mungo’s,” said Hermione, looking disappointed and crumpling up a second. 

“This one looks okay, though,” said Harry slowly, scanning a long letter. “Hey, she says she believes me!” 

“This one’s in two minds,” said Fred, who had joined in the letter opening with enthusiasm. “Says you don’t come across as a mad person, but he really doesn’t want to believe You-Know-Who’s back so he doesn’t know what to think now. . . . Blimey, what a waste of parchment . . .” 

“Here’s another one you’ve convinced, Harry!” said Hermione excitedly. “ ‘Having read your side of the story I am forced to the conclusion that the Daily Prophet has treated you very unfairly. . . . Little though I want to think that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has returned, I am forced to accept that you are telling the truth. . . .’ Oh this is wonderful!” 

“Another one who thinks you’re barking,” said Ron, throwing a crumpled letter over his shoulder, “but this one says you’ve got her converted, and she now thinks you’re a real hero — she’s put in a photograph too — wow —” 

“What is going on here?” said a falsely sweet, girlish voice. 

Emile and George turned around quickly. Professor Umbridge was standing behind Fred and Luna, her bulging toad’s eyes scanning the mess of owls and letters on the table in front of Harry. Behind her he saw many of the students watching them avidly. 

“Why have you got all these letters, Mr. Potter?” she asked slowly. 

“Is that a crime now?” said Fred loudly. “Getting mail?” 

“Be careful, Mr. Weasley, or I shall have to put you in detention,” said Umbridge. “Well, Mr. Potter?” 

“People have written to me because I gave an interview,” said Harry. “About what happened to me last June.” 

“An interview?” repeated Umbridge, her voice thinner and higher than ever. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean a reporter asked me questions and I answered them,” said Harry. “Here —” 

And he threw the copy of The Quibbler at her. She caught it and stared down at the cover. Her pale, doughy face turned an ugly, patchy violet. 

“When did you do this?” she asked, her voice trembling slightly. 

“Last Hogsmeade weekend,” said Harry. She looked up at him, incandescent with rage, the magazine shaking in her stubby fingers. “There will be no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr. Potter,” she whispered. “How you dare . . . how you could . . .” She took a deep breath. “I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. The message, apparently, has still not sunk in. Fifty points from Gryffindor and another week’s worth of detentions.” 

She stalked away, clutching The Quibbler to her chest, the eyes of many students following her. By mid-morning enormous signs had been put up all over the school, not just on House notice boards, but in the corridors and classrooms too. 

— by order of — 

The High Inquisitor of Hogwarts 

Any student found in possession of the magazine The Quibbler will be expelled. 

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-seven. 

Signed: 

Dolores Jane Umbridge 

high inquisitor 

For some reason, every time Hermione caught sight of one of these signs she beamed with pleasure. 

“What exactly are you so happy about?” Harry asked her. 

“Oh Harry, don’t you see?” Hermione breathed. “If she could have done one thing to make absolutely sure that every single person in this school will read your interview, it was banning it!” 

And it seemed that Hermione was quite right. By the end of that day, though Emile had not seen so much as a corner of The Quibbler anywhere in the school, the whole place seemed to be quoting the interview at each other; People were heard them whispering about it as they queued up outside classes, discussing it over lunch and in the back of lessons, while Emile and Hermione even reported that every occupant of the cubicles in the girls’ toilets had been talking about it when they had ran into each other as well as a majority of their classmates. 

“And then they spotted me, and obviously they know I know you, so they were bombarding me with questions,” Hermione said, her eyes shining, “and I think they believe Harry, I really do, I think he’ finally got them convinced!” 

**_The Dark Lord will not be happy._ **

**Because we called him out?**

**_Yes. You lot are just asking for trouble now._ **

**What’s the worst thing he could do?**

**_Kill your family. Oh wait, we already did that._ **

**Wow. You’ve reached a new low, Barty.**

**_Don’t call me Barty._ **

Meanwhile Professor Umbridge was stalking the school, stopping students at random and demanding that they turn out their books and pockets. Emile knew she was looking for copies of The Quibbler, but the students were several steps ahead of her. The pages carrying Harry’s interview had been bewitched to resemble extracts from textbooks if anyone but themselves read it, or else wiped magically blank until they wanted to peruse it again. Soon it seemed that every single person in the school had read it. 

Harry was a hero in the Gryffindor common room that night; daringly, Fred and George had put an Enlargement Charm on the front cover of The Quibbler and hung it on the wall, so that Harry’s giant head gazed down upon the proceedings, occasionally saying things like “The Ministry are morons” and “Eat dung, Umbridge” in a booming voice. Hermione did not find this very amusing; she said it interfered with her concentration, and ended up going to bed early out of irritation. Emile had to admit that the poster was not quite as funny after an hour or two, especially when the talking spell had started to wear off, so that it merely shouted disconnected words like “Dung” and “Umbridge” at more and more frequent intervals in a progressively higher voice.

“I wonder what your mother thinks about all this,” Emile commented to George as she sipped tea by the fire. She was working on a chart for Astronomy and Nathan was reading her potions book. George was sitting next to them for ‘morale support’.

“She’s probably going to send a letter to Harry saying,” George cleared his throat and raised his voice, “Harry, dear. I know I’m not your mother but I strongly urge you to proceed with caution. These are dangerous times Harry, and doing that interview made you more of a target.”

“I think she’d try to be more discrete than that,” Emile laughed.

“You’re probably right,” George smiled at her.

“Fred was right, you two are sickening,” Nathan laughed.

‘What does that mean, Nat?”

“Don’t call me Nat!”

**_See, I can relate to Nathaniel over there. He prefers to go by something much more decent sounding and you all nickname him after a pest._ **

**I could start calling him Barty to name him after the biggest pest in my life.**

**_Emile, we were getting along so well._ **

**Were we? Really?**

Emile didn’t do much that week outside of her weekly lessons with Snape. She was a bit hesitant to continue with them, every week she seemed to accidentally delve deeper and deeper into the potion master’s mind.

“I just don’t feel comfortable getting too comfortable with teachers,” Emile said nervously, shifting her feet under the chair.

“Miss Gorska, I clearly remember you being the one to ask me more about my past,” Snape said in a cold voice that didn’t spread to his eyes. He found it amusing.

“Yes but there’s a difference between telling someone and seeing it,” Emile argued. “When you verbally tell people things you tend to sugarcoat them.”

“Are we going to start this lesson at some time or would you prefer to leave?” Snape took out his wand. “Legilimence.”

Emile found it too easy to fight back. Once she was certain that Barty was safe she lashed out, breaking into the Professor’s mind.  A greasy-haired teenager sat alone in a dark bedroom, pointing his wand at the ceiling, shooting down flies. . . . A girl was laughing as a scrawny boy tried to mount a bucking broomstick —

Emile jumped as a crash sounded in front of her. Snape was lying on the ground behind his desk, he seemed to have attempted to get up and had tripped over his chair.

“You alright, Professor?”

“I’m fine,” He stood up quickly, brushing off his long cloak. “That was very good.”

“Who was that girl?” Emile looked up at him as he froze. “Was she in your year?”

“Yes, she was,” Snape said quietly before shaking his head. “No more questions.”

“Alright,” Emile shrugged and stood up, grabbing her book bag. “Goodnight, Professor.”

Snape didn’t respond as Emile left the room, closing the door behind her. 


	52. Think of a Wonderful Thought

One scream. Two screams. Somewhere, a woman’s shriek was echoing throughout the castle. It woke Emile up with a start, she had fallen asleep in the library. Picking up her bookbag she power walked out of the library, running through the halls as she searched for the locations of the screams. Eventually she found herself pushing through the crowd by the entrance hall. 

Professor Trelawney was standing in the middle of the entrance hall with her wand in one hand and an empty sherry bottle in the other, looking utterly mad. Her hair was sticking up on end, her glasses were lopsided so that one eye was magnified more than the other; her innumerable shawls and scarves were trailing haphazardly from her shoulders, giving the impression that she was falling apart at the seams. Two large trunks lay on the floor beside her, one of them upside down; it looked very much as though it had been thrown down the stairs after her. Professor Trelawney was staring, apparently terrified, at something Emile could not see but that seemed to be standing at the foot of the stairs. 

“No!” she shrieked. “NO! This cannot be happening. . . . It cannot . . . I refuse to accept it!” 

“You didn’t realize this was coming?” said a high girlish voice, sounding callously amused, and Emile, moving slightly to her right, saw that Trelawney’s terrifying vision was nothing other than Professor Umbridge. “Incapable though you are of predicting even tomorrow’s weather, you must surely have realized that your pitiful performance during my inspections, and lack of any improvement, would make it inevitable you would be sacked?” 

“You c-can’t!” howled Professor Trelawney, tears streaming down her face from behind her enormous lenses, “you c-can’t sack me! I’ve b-been here sixteen years! H-Hogwarts is m-my h-home!” 

“It was your home,” said Professor Umbridge, enjoyment stretching her toadlike face as she watched Professor Trelawney sink, sobbing uncontrollably, onto one of her trunks, “until an hour ago, when the Minister of Magic countersigned the order for your dismissal. Now kindly remove yourself from this hall. You are embarrassing us.” 

But she stood and watched, with an expression of gloating enjoyment, as Professor Trelawney shuddered and moaned, rocking backward and forward on her trunk in paroxysms of grief. Harry heard a sob to his left and looked around. Lavender and Parvati were both crying silently, their arms around each other. Then he heard footsteps. Professor McGonagall had broken away from the spectators, marched straight up to Professor Trelawney and was patting her firmly on the back while withdrawing a large handkerchief from within her robes. 

“There, there, Sibyll . . . Calm down. . . . Blow your nose on this. . . . It’s not as bad as you think, now. . . . You are not going to have to leave Hogwarts. . . .” 

“Oh really, Professor McGonagall?” said Umbridge in a deadly voice, taking a few steps forward. “And your authority for that statement is . . . ?” 

“That would be mine,” said a deep voice. 

The oak front doors had swung open. Students beside them scuttled out of the way as Dumbledore appeared in the entrance. Leaving the doors wide behind him, he strode forward through the circle of onlookers toward the place where Professor Trelawney sat, tearstained and trembling, upon her trunk, Professor McGonagall alongside her. 

“Yours, Professor Dumbledore?” said Umbridge with a singularly unpleasant little laugh. “I’m afraid you do not understand the position. I have here” — she pulled a parchment scroll from within her robes — “an Order of Dismissal signed by myself and the Minister of Magic. Under the terms of Educational Decree Number Twenty-three, the High Inquisitor of Hogwarts has the power to inspect, place upon probation, and sack any teacher she — that is to say, I — feel is not performing up to the standard required by the Ministry of Magic. I have decided that Professor Trelawney is not up to scratch. I have dismissed her.”

To Emile’s very great surprise, Dumbledore continued to smile. He looked down at Professor Trelawney, who was still sobbing and choking on her trunk, and said, “You are quite right, of course, Professor Umbridge. As High Inquisitor you have every right to dismiss my teachers. You do not, however, have the authority to send them away from the castle. I am afraid,” he went on, with a courteous little bow, “that the power to do that still resides with the headmaster, and it is my wish that Professor Trelawney continue to live at Hogwarts.” 

At this, Professor Trelawney gave a wild little laugh in which a hiccup was barely hidden. 

“No — no, I’ll g-go, Dumbledore! I sh-shall l-leave Hogwarts and s-seek my fortune elsewhere —” 

“No,” said Dumbledore sharply. “It is my wish that you remain, Sibyll.” 

He turned to Professor McGonagall. “Might I ask you to escort Sibyll back upstairs, Professor McGonagall?” 

“Of course,” said McGonagall. “Up you get, Sibyll. . . .” 

Professor Sprout came hurrying forward out of the crowd and grabbed Professor Trelawney’s other arm. Together they guided her past Umbridge and up the marble stairs. Professor Flitwick went scurrying after them, his wand held out before him; he squeaked, “Locomotor trunks!” and Professor Trelawney’s luggage rose into the air and proceeded up the staircase after her, Professor Flitwick bringing up the rear. 

Professor Umbridge was standing stock-still, staring at Dumbledore, who continued to smile benignly. 

“And what,” she said in a whisper that nevertheless carried all around the entrance hall, “are you going to do with her once I appoint a new Divination teacher who needs her lodgings?” 

“Oh, that won’t be a problem,” said Dumbledore pleasantly. “You see, I have already found us a new Divination teacher, and he will prefer lodgings on the ground floor.” 

“You’ve found — ?” said Umbridge shrilly. “You’ve found? Might I remind you, Dumbledore, that under Educational Decree Twentytwo —” 

“— the Ministry has the right to appoint a suitable candidate if — and only if — the headmaster is unable to find one,” said Dumbledore. “And I am happy to say that on this occasion I have succeeded. May I introduce you?” 

He turned to face the open front doors, through which night mist was now drifting. Emile heard hooves. There was a shocked murmur around the hall and those nearest the doors hastily moved even farther backward, some of them tripping over in their haste to clear a path for the newcomer. Through the mist came a face that made Emile wish she had stayed in Divination: white-blond hair and astonishingly blue eyes, the head and torso of a man joined to the palomino body of a horse. 

“This is Firenze,” said Dumbledore happily to a thunderstruck Umbridge. “I think you’ll find him suitable.”

“Em,” Fred pulled her aside as the crowd began to file back inside the castle. “Where have you been hiding?”

“I fell asleep in the library. Why? Did I miss something more exciting than what we just saw?”

“You missed out one hundredth sale, that’s what you missed,” George grinned as he walked up to them.

“Wow… that’s really good,” Emile said with a forced smile. She was happy that they were doing well, but with every sale they became more and more dedicated to their joke shop business. One hundred sales was a lot of profit, they could leave whenever they wanted. There wasn’t anything keeping them here.

School was slowly getting worse and worse. Along with Quidditch practice and the DA, there was a lot more homework to complete. N.E.W.T.’s were coming closer and closer

They had finally started work on Patronuses, which everybody had been very keen to practice, though as Harry kept reminding them, producing a Patronus in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they were not under threat was very different to producing it when confronted by something like a dementor. 

“Oh, don’t be such a killjoy,” said Cho brightly, watching her silvery swan-shaped Patronus soar around the Room of Requirement during their last lesson before Easter. “They’re so pretty!” 

“They’re not supposed to be pretty, they’re supposed to protect you,” said Harry. “What we really need is a boggart or something; that’s how I learned, I had to conjure a Patronus while the boggart was pretending to be a dementor —” 

“But that would be really scary!” said Lavender, who was shooting puffs of silver vapor out of the end of her wand. “And I still — can’t — do it!” she added angrily. 

Neville was having trouble too. His face was screwed up in concentration, but only feeble wisps of silver smoke issued from his wand tip. 

“You’ve got to think of something happy,” Harry reminded him. 

“I’m trying,” said Neville miserably, who was trying so hard his round face was actually shining with sweat. 

“Harry, I think I’m doing it!” yelled Seamus, who had been brought along to his first ever D.A. meeting by Dean. “Look — ah — it’s gone. . . . But it was definitely something hairy, Harry!” 

Hermione’s Patronus, a shining silver otter, was gamboling around her. 

“They are sort of nice, aren’t they?” she said, looking at it fondly. 

“Em! Check it out!” 

Fred and George were laughing at their patronuses, Fred’s a hyena and George’s a coyote. The two were running around them in circles, chasing each other until their attention was shifted to Luna’s silver bunny, which had just waltzed by. 

“Where’s yours?” George asked Emile as the coyote ran past her. 

“I can’t even produce a silver vapor,” Emile sighed, attempting a different happy thought as she whisker her wand through the air. “Expecto Patronum!”

A small wisp of smoke, thin as a thread, came out of the end of her wand and then vanished.

“See? I’m terrible,” Emile moaned and sat down on the ground.

“No, stand up. You’ve got the arm movement all wrong,” George pulled her up and stood behind her, so close that Emile felt a bit uncomfortable. 

George held onto her wand hand as he showed her how to do it. “It’s a more extravagant swish, and then a really sharp jab, see?”

**_Get that boy, Emile._ **

**Shut up.**

“Alright, I think I’ve got it,” Emile said as George dropped his hand from her arm, not moving away in the slightest. Cautiously aware of the redhead standing so close that she could feel his breath, Emile swished, flicked, and said as clearly as she could, “Expecto Patronum!”

She covered her eyes as a large ball of silver swirled out of her wand, forming a large creature. It was a large cat, with thick fur and spots.

“What is it?” George asked as they stared at the creature.

“It’s a snow leopard,” Emile said with a smile, watching it leap into the air and join the hunt for the rabbit, only to be chased away by Ginny’s horse.

“Hey, what’s Dobby doing here?” Fred said to George, gesturing towards a house elf by Harry’s side.

“Harry Potter, sir . . .” squeaked the elf, trembling from head to foot, “Harry Potter, sir . . . Dobby has come to warn you . . . but the house-elves have been warned not to tell . . .” 

He ran headfirst at the wall: Harry, who apparently had some experience of Dobby’s habits of self-punishment, made to seize him, but Dobby merely bounced off the stone, cushioned by his eight hats. Hermione and a few of the other girls let out squeaks of fear and sympathy. 

“What’s happened, Dobby?” Harry asked, grabbing the elf’s tiny arm and holding him away from anything with which he might seek to hurt himself. 

“Harry Potter . . . she . . . she . . .” Dobby hit himself hard on the nose with his free fist: Harry seized that too. 

“Who’s ‘she,’ Dobby?” 

The elf looked up at him, slightly cross-eyed, and mouthed wordlessly. 

“Umbridge?” asked Harry, horrified. Dobby nodded, then tried to bang his head off Harry’s knees; Harry held him at bay. 

“What about her? Dobby — she hasn’t found out about this — about us — about the D.A.?” 

“Is she coming?” Harry asked quietly. 

Dobby let out a howl, and began beating his bare feet hard on the floor. “Yes, Harry Potter, yes!” 

Harry stood up and looked around the room, now much darker without the patronuses lighting the air.

“WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?” Harry bellowed. “RUN!” 

They all pelted toward the exit at once, forming a scrum at the door, then people burst through.

“Harry, come on!” shrieked Hermione from the center of the knot of people now fighting to get out. 

Emile took George by one arm and Fred by the other. “We can go to the library, pretend we were there all along!”

“Or we can just go back to the common room!” Fred yelled over the noise.

“They’ll be expecting that!” Emile yelled as they broke out into the hallway, running down into the library.

“Silence!” Madame Pince hissed from the counter. “We close in ten minutes, hurry up.”

“Sorry,” Emile whispered as they passed. “Just looking for a charms book.”

“Alright, alright,” came an impatient response.

“George, we ought to seriously consider leaving now,” Fred sighed and leaned against a bookshelf.

“I agree, Fred,” George sighed wistfully. “Without the DA there isn’t much worth staying at Hogwarts for.”

Emile turned and walked away from the two of them. She understood, she wasn’t worth their time. She was just a burden.

**_Why do you need me to be depressed when you do a bangup job of making yourself depressed?_ **

**I can’t help it.**

**_Can’t help what?_ **

**Both you and the anxiety.**

**_It’s a shame, that your happy thought wants to leave you._ **

**Bartemius, please stop.**

**_Alright, but only because I like you._ **

**Gee, thanks.**

If only that had been the worst news that week, perhaps Emile wouldn’t have broken down in Astronomy. Not crying, like other times, but simply fainting to the ground. According to Madame Pomfrey she was unconscious for nearly an hour, but Emile had stopped caring.

— by order of — 

The Ministry of Magic Dolores Jane Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

The above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-eight. 

Signed: 

Cornelius Fudge 

minister of magic 

The notices had gone up all over the school overnight, but they did not explain how every single person within the castle seemed to know that Dumbledore had overcome two Aurors, the High Inquisitor, the Minister of Magic, and his Junior Assistant to escape.

If that wasn’t bad enough, a large majority of Slytherin house had been granted special privileges. As members of Professor Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad, they now had the power to dock everyone house points. Gryffindor and ravenclaw, who had that morning been neck to neck, had drastically dwindled in points. The only hourglass that had remained unchanged was the glistening tower of emeralds in Slytherin. 

Fred, George, Harry, Ron, and Hermione walked up behind Emile, discussing the events of the past few days. 

“Morning, Emile,” Ron said next to her. 

“Hey, Ron,” Emile said quietly.

“Malfoy just docked us all about fifty points,” said Harry furiously, as they watched several more stones fly upward from the Gryffindor hourglass. 

“Yeah, Montague tried to do us during break,” said George. 

“What do you mean, ‘tried’?” said Ron quickly. 

“He never managed to get all the words out,” said Fred, “due to the fact that we forced him headfirst into that Vanishing Cabinet on the first floor.” 

Hermione looked very shocked. 

“But you’ll get into terrible trouble!” 

“Not until Montague reappears, and that could take weeks, I dunno where we sent him,” said Fred coolly. “Anyway . . . we’ve decided we don’t care about getting into trouble anymore.” 

“Have you ever?” asked Hermione. 

“ ’Course we have,” said George. “Never been expelled, have we?” 

“We’ve always known where to draw the line,” said Fred. 

“We might have put a toe across it occasionally,” said George. 

“But we’ve always stopped short of causing real mayhem,” said Fred. 

“But now?” said Ron tentatively. 

“Well, now —” said George. 

“— what with Dumbledore gone —” said Fred. 

“— we reckon a bit of mayhem —” said George. 

“— is exactly what our dear new Head deserves,” said Fred. 

“You mustn’t!” whispered Hermione. “You really mustn’t! She’d love a reason to expel you!” 

“You don’t get it, Hermione, do you?” said Fred, smiling at her. “We don’t care about staying anymore. We’d walk out right now if we weren’t determined to do our bit for Dumbledore first. So anyway,” he checked his watch, “phase one is about to begin. I’d get in the Great Hall for lunch if I were you, that way the teachers will see you can’t have had anything to do with it.” 

“Anything to do with what?” said Hermione anxiously. 

“You’ll see,” said George. “Run along, now.” 

Fred and George turned away and disappeared in the swelling crowd descending the stairs toward lunch. Emile bade a quick farewell to the others before following them at a safe distance, watching from afar as they snuck into the passage behind the three eyed witch.

“Is everything set up?” Fred’s voice echoed dimly up the tunnel.

“It’s all set. Whenever you’re ready, Fred.”

“I’m ready when you are, George.”

They jumped out of the tunnel, loaded with wet start fireworks of their own creation. Emile hid behind one of the tapestry’s, watching as firework after firework went off. A gigantic sparkly dragon made up of gold and emerald sparks flew by, followed by three more. Shocking-pink Catherine wheels five feet in diameter were whizzing lethally through the air like so many flying saucers. Rockets with long tails of brilliant silver stars were ricocheting off the walls. Sparklers were writing swearwords in midair of their own accord. Firecrackers were exploding like mines everywhere Emile looked, and instead of burning themselves out, fading from sight, or fizzling to a halt, these pyrotechnical miracles seemed to be gaining in energy and momentum the longer she watched. 

“Hurry, Filch, hurry!” shrieked Umbridge. “They’ll be all over the school unless we do something — Stupefy!” 

A jet of red light shot out of the end of her wand and hit one of the rockets. Instead of freezing in midair, it exploded with such force that it blasted a hole in a painting of a soppy-looking witch in the middle of a meadow — she ran for it just in time, reappearing seconds later squashed into the painting next door, where a couple of wizards playing cards stood up hastily to make room for her. 

“Don’t Stun them, Filch!” shouted Umbridge angrily, for all the world as though it had been his suggestion.

“Oh this is precious,” a voice from behind Emile laughed. She whipped out her wand and spun around, only to find Fred and George watching from behind her.

“You scared me half to death,” she grumbled and stuffed her wand back in her pocket.

“And you’ve been avoiding us,” George said from behind his brother, leaning against the wall. 

At that moment Harry ran behind the tapestry on George’s side.

“Impressive,” Harry said quietly, grinning. “Very impressive . . . You’ll put Dr. Filibuster out of business, no problem. . . .” 

“Cheers,” whispered George, wiping tears of laughter from his face. “Oh, I hope she tries Vanishing them next. . . . They multiply by ten every time you try. . . .” 

The fireworks continued to burn and to spread all over the school that afternoon. Though they caused plenty of disruption, particularly the firecrackers, the other teachers did not seem to mind them very much. 

“Dear, dear,” said Professor Sinistra sardonically, as one of the dragons soared around her classroom, emitting loud bangs and exhaling flame. “Miss Johnson, would you mind running along to the headmistress and informing her that we have an escaped firework in our classroom?” 

The upshot of it all was that Professor Umbridge spent her first afternoon as headmistress running all over the school answering the summonses of the other teachers, none of whom seemed able to rid their rooms of the fireworks without her. When the final bell rang and the students were heading back to Gryffindor Tower with their bags, Harry saw, with immense satisfaction, a disheveled and soot-blackened Umbridge tottering sweaty-faced from Professor Flitwick’s classroom. 

“Thank you so much, Professor!” said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky little voice. “I could have got rid of the sparklers myself, of course, but I wasn’t sure whether I had the authority. . . .” 

Beaming, he closed his classroom door in her snarling face. 

Fred and George were heroes that night in the Gryffindor common room. Even Hermione fought her way through the excited crowd around them to congratulate them. 

“They were wonderful fireworks,” she said admiringly. 

“Thanks,” said George, looking both surprised and pleased. “Weasleys’ Wildfire Whiz-Bangs. Only thing is, we used our whole stock, we’re going to have to start again from scratch now. . . .” 

“It was worth it, though,” said Fred, who was taking orders from clamoring Gryffindors. “If you want to add your name to the waiting list, Hermione, it’s five Galleons for your Basic Blaze box and twenty for the Deflagration Deluxe. . . .” 

Emile stood up and left the common room. 

**_You’re being very rude._ **

**They’re trying to get expelled.**

**_Stop being so salty. Instead of ignoring your friends last days at Hogwarts you ought to be there for them. Make the most of your time with them._ **

**You’re so wise.**

**_I know, sometimes I even surprise myself._ **

The next evening Emile couldn’t help but notice that Harry seemed a bit distant. Snape had also turned her away when she showed up for lessons, yelling very rude and uncalled for remarks. It had to have something to do with Harry.

It was well past one in the morning when Emile snuck out of her dorm and into the boy’s dormitory, cracking the door open wide enough just to see Harry lying in his bed. Pulling out her wand, she pointed it at his sleeping figure and whispering, “Legilimence.”

It was like forcing her way through a whirlpool. There was Cho, crying in a teashop. Sirius laughing. Dumbledore, far off in the distance. And everywhere Emile looked, a large door at the end of a hallway. After what seemed like hours she finally found an image of Harry ducking his head into a pensieve, and went along with it.

He was standing in the middle of the Great Hall, but the four House tables were gone. Instead there were more than a hundred smaller tables, all facing the same way, at each of which sat a student, head bent low, scribbling on a roll of parchment. The only sound was the scratching of quills and the occasional rustle as somebody adjusted their parchment. It was clearly exam time. Sunshine was streaming through the high windows onto the bent heads, which shone chestnut and copper and gold in the bright light. 

Snape-the-teenager had a stringy, pallid look about him, like a plant� kept in the dark. His hair was lank and greasy and was flopping onto the table, his hooked nose barely half an inch from the surface of the parchment as he scribbled. Emile watched through Harry’s eyes as he moved around behind Snape and read the heading of the examination paper: Defense Against the Dark Arts — Ordinary Wizarding Level. 

So Snape had to be fifteen or sixteen, around Harry’s age. His hand was flying across the parchment; he had written at least a foot more than his closest neighbors, and yet his writing was minuscule and cramped. 

“Five more minutes!”

The voice made Harry jump; turning, he saw the top of Professor Flitwick’s head moving between the desks a short distance away. Professor Flitwick was walking past a boy with untidy black hair.

If Emile could she would have sighed in frustration. Harry moved so quickly that, had he been solid, he would have knocked desks flying. Instead he seemed to slide, dreamlike, across two aisles and up a third. The back of the black-haired boy’s head drew nearer and nearer. . . . He was straightening up now, putting down his quill, pulling his roll of parchment toward him so as to reread what he had written. . . . 

Harry stopped in front of the desk and gazed down at his fifteen-year-old father. Excitement exploded in the pit of his stomach; he looked a lot like him.

Emile felt Harry’s astonishment, but she wanted to see more of Snape.

James yawned hugely and rumpled up his hair, making it even messier than it had been. Then, with a glance toward Professor Flitwick, he turned in his seat and grinned at a boy sitting four seats behind him. 

With another shock of excitement, Harry (and Emile) saw Sirius give James the thumbs-up. Sirius was lounging in his chair at his ease, tilting it back on two legs. He was very good-looking; his dark hair fell into his eyes with a sort of casual elegance neither James’s nor Harry’s could ever have achieved, and a girl sitting behind him was eyeing him hopefully, though he didn’t seem to have noticed. 

And two seats along from this girl — Harry’s stomach gave another pleasurable squirm — was Remus Lupin. He looked rather pale and peaky (was the full moon approaching?) and was absorbed in the exam: As he reread his answers he scratched his chin with the end of his quill, frowning slightly. 

“Quills down, please!” squeaked Professor Flitwick. “That means you too, Stebbins! Please remain seated while I collect your parchment! Accio!” 

More than a hundred rolls of parchment zoomed into the air and into Professor Flitwick’s outstretched arms, knocking him backward off his feet. Several people laughed. A couple of students at the front desks got up, took hold of Professor Flitwick beneath the elbows, and lifted him onto his feet again. 

“Thank you . . . thank you,” panted Professor Flitwick. “Very well, everybody, you’re free to go!” 

Harry looked down at his father, who had hastily crossed out the L. E. he had been embellishing, jumped to his feet, stuffed his quill and the exam question paper into his bag, which he slung over his back, and stood waiting for Sirius to join him. Harry looked around and glimpsed Snape a short way away, moving between the tables toward the doors into the entrance hall, still absorbed in his own examination paper. 

Round-shouldered yet angular, he walked in a twitchy manner that recalled a spider, his oily hair swinging about his face. A gang of chattering girls separated Snape from James and Sirius, and by planting himself in the midst of this group, Harry managed to keep Snape in sight while straining his ears to catch the voices of James and his friends. 

“Did you like question ten, Moony?” asked Sirius as they emerged into the entrance hall. 

“Loved it,” said Lupin briskly. “ ‘Give five signs that identify the werewolf.’ Excellent question.” 

“D’you think you managed to get all the signs?” said James in tones of mock concern. 

“Think I did,” said Lupin seriously, as they joined the crowd thronging around the front doors eager to get out into the sunlit grounds. “One: He’s sitting on my chair. Two: He’s wearing my clothes. Three: His name’s Remus Lupin . . .” 

A somewhat short, chubby boy  was the only one who didn’t laugh. “I got the snout shape, the pupils of the eyes, and the tufted tail,” he said anxiously, “but I couldn’t think what else —”

“How thick are you, Wormtail?” said James impatiently. “You run round with a werewolf once a month —” 

“Keep your voice down,” implored Lupin. 

Harry (and Emile) looked anxiously behind him again. Snape remained close by, still buried in his examination questions; but this was Snape’s memory, and Harry was sure that if Snape chose to wander off in a different direction once outside in the grounds, he, Harry, would not be able to follow James any farther. 

To his intense relief, however, when James and his three friends strode off down the lawn toward the lake, Snape followed, still poring over the paper and apparently with no fixed idea of where he was going. By jogging a little ahead of him, Harry managed to maintain a close watch on James and the others. 

“Well, I thought that paper was a piece of cake,” he heard Sirius say. “I’ll be surprised if I don’t get Outstanding on it at least.” 

“Me too,” said James. He put his hand in his pocket and took out a struggling Golden Snitch. 

“Where’d you get that?” 

“Nicked it,” said James casually. 

He started playing with the Snitch, allowing it to fly as much as a foot away and seizing it again; his reflexes were excellent. Wormtail watched him in awe. They stopped in the shade of the very same beech tree on the edge of the lake where Emile often came when there was warmer weather to finish her homework, and threw themselves down on the grass. 

Harry looked over his shoulder yet again and saw that Snape had settled himself on the grass in the dense shadows of a clump of bushes. He was as deeply immersed in the O.W.L. paper as ever, which left Harry free to sit down on the grass between the beech and the bushes and watch the foursome under the tree. 

The sunlight was dazzling on the smooth surface of the lake, on the bank of which the group of laughing girls who had just left the Great Hall were sitting with shoes and socks off, cooling their feet in the water. Lupin had pulled out a book and was reading. Sirius stared around at the students milling over the grass, looking rather haughty and bored, but very handsomely so. James was still playing with the Snitch, letting it zoom farther and farther away, almost escaping but always grabbed at the last second. 

Wormtail was watching him with his mouth open. Every time James made a particularly difficult catch, Wormtail gasped and applauded. After five minutes of this, Harry wondered why James didn’t tell Wormtail to get a grip on himself, but James seemed to be enjoying the attention. Harry’s father had a habit of rumpling up his hair as though to make sure it did not get too tidy, and also that he kept looking over at the girls by the water’s edge. 

“Put that away, will you?” said Sirius finally, as James made a fine catch and Wormtail let out a cheer. “Before Wormtail wets himself from excitement.” 

Wormtail turned slightly pink but James grinned. 

“If it bothers you,” he said, stuffing the Snitch back in his pocket. Harry had the distinct impression that Sirius was the only one for whom James would have stopped showing off. 

“I’m bored,” said Sirius. “Wish it was full moon.” 

“You might,” said Lupin darkly from behind his book. “We’ve still got Transfiguration, if you’re bored you could test me. . . . Here.” He held out his book. 

Sirius snorted. “I don’t need to look at that rubbish, I know it all.” 

“This’ll liven you up, Padfoot,” said James quietly. “Look who it is. . . .” 

Sirius’s head turned. He had become very still, like a dog that has scented a rabbit. 

“Excellent,” he said softly. “Snivellus.” 

Harry and Emile turned to see what Sirius was looking at. Snape was on his feet again, and was stowing the O.W.L. paper in his bag. As he emerged from the shadows of the bushes and set off across the grass, Sirius and James stood up. Lupin and Wormtail remained sitting: Lupin was still staring down at his book, though his eyes were not moving and a faint frown line had appeared between his eyebrows. Wormtail was looking from Sirius and James to Snape with a look of avid anticipation on his face. 

“All right, Snivellus?” said James loudly. 

Snape reacted so fast it was as though he had been expecting an attack: Dropping his bag, he plunged his hand inside his robes, and his wand was halfway into the air when James shouted, “Expelliarmus!” 

Snape’s wand flew twelve feet into the air and fell with a little thud in the grass behind him. Sirius let out a bark of laughter. 

“Impedimenta!” he said, pointing his wand at Snape, who was knocked off his feet, halfway through a dive toward his own fallen wand. 

Students all around had turned to watch. Some of them had gotten to their feet and were edging nearer to watch. Some looked apprehensive, others entertained. Snape lay panting on the ground. James and Sirius advanced on him, wands up, James glancing over his shoulder at the girls at the water’s edge as he went. Wormtail was on his feet now, watching hungrily, edging around Lupin to get a clearer view. 

“How’d the exam go, Snivelly?” said James. 

“I was watching him, his nose was touching the parchment,” said Sirius viciously. “There’ll be great grease marks all over it, they won’t be able to read a word.” 

Several people watching laughed; Snape was clearly unpopular. Wormtail sniggered shrilly. Snape was trying to get up, but the jinx was still operating on him; he was struggling, as though bound by invisible ropes. 

“You — wait,” he panted, staring up at James with an expression of purest loathing. “You — wait. . . .” 

“Wait for what?” said Sirius coolly. “What’re you going to do, Snivelly, wipe your nose on us?” 

Snape let out a stream of mixed swearwords and hexes, but his wand being ten feet away nothing happened. 

“Wash out your mouth,” said James coldly. “Scourgify!” 

Pink soap bubbles streamed from Snape’s mouth at once; the froth was covering his lips, making him gag, choking him — 

“Leave him ALONE!” James and Sirius looked around. James’s free hand jumped to his hair again. It was one of the girls from the lake edge. 

She had thick, dark red hair that fell to her shoulders and startlingly green almond-shaped eyes — Harry’s eyes. Harry’s mother . . . 

“All right, Evans?” said James, and the tone of his voice was suddenly pleasant, deeper, more mature. 

“Leave him alone,” Lily repeated. She was looking at James with every sign of great dislike. “What’s he done to you?” 

“Well,” said James, appearing to deliberate the point, “it’s more the fact that he exists, if you know what I mean. . . .” 

Many of the surrounding watchers laughed, Sirius and Wormtail included, but Lupin, still apparently intent on his book, didn’t, and neither did Lily. 

“You think you’re funny,” she said coldly. “But you’re just an arrogant, bullying toerag, Potter. Leave him alone.” 

“I will if you go out with me, Evans,” said James quickly. “Go on . . . Go out with me, and I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.” 

Behind him, the Impediment Jinx was wearing off. Snape was beginning to inch toward his fallen wand, spitting out soapsuds as he crawled. 

“I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,” said Lily. 

“Bad luck, Prongs,” said Sirius briskly, turning back to Snape. “OY!” 

But too late; Snape had directed his wand straight at James; there was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the side of James’s face, spattering his robes with blood. James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants. 

Many people in the small crowd watching cheered. Sirius, James, and Wormtail roared with laughter. Lily, whose furious expression had twitched for an instant as though she was going to smile, said, “Let him down!” 

“Certainly,” said James and he jerked his wand upward. 

Snape fell into a crumpled heap on the ground. Disentangling himself from his robes, he got quickly to his feet, wand up, but Sirius said, “Petrificus Totalus!” and Snape keeled over again at once, rigid as a board. 

“LEAVE HIM ALONE!” Lily shouted. She had her own wand out now. 

James and Sirius eyed it warily. 

“Ah, Evans, don’t make me hex you,” said James earnestly. 

“Take the curse off him, then!” James sighed deeply, then turned to Snape and muttered the countercurse. 

“There you go,” he said, as Snape struggled to his feet again, “you’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus —” 

“I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!” 

Lily blinked. 

“Fine,” she said coolly. “I won’t bother in future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.” 

“Apologize to Evans!” James roared at Snape, his wand pointed threateningly at him. 

“I don’t want you to make him apologize,” Lily shouted, rounding on James. “You’re as bad as he is. . . .” 

“What?” yelped James. “I’d NEVER call you a — you-know-what!” 

“Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you’ve just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can — I’m surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it. You make me SICK.” 

She turned on her heel and hurried away. 

“Evans!” James shouted after her, “Hey, EVANS!” 

But she didn’t look back.

“What is it with her?” said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him. 

“Reading between the lines, I’d say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate,” said Sirius. 

“Right,” said James, who looked furious now, “right —” 

There was another flash of light, and Snape was once again hanging upside down in the air. 

“Who wants to see me take off Snivelly’s pants?” 

But whether James really did take off Snape’s pants, neither Emile or Harry found out. A hand had closed tight over his upper arm, closed with a pincer like grip. Wincing, Harry looked around to see who had hold of him, and saw, with a thrill of horror, a fully grown, adult-sized Snape standing right beside him, white with rage. 

Emile gasped and tumbled backwards, hitting her head on the opposing wall. She sat there for a few minutes, rubbing the back of her head absentmindedly.

**_Ok, I’ll guide you through the facts._ **

**Thank you.**

**_Harry’s father was a bullying toerag._ **

**Right.**

**_Snape was bullied for no reason whatsoever._ **

**So now Snape doesn’t trust anyone.**

**_But what of the girl, Lily?_ **

**What about her?**

**_Don’t you think you look like her?_ **

**We don’t have the same facial structure.**

**_Same eyes, same hair._ **

**My hair is shorter.**

**_Snape mentioned that there was a muggleborn he once had feelings for._ **

**When?**

**_That’s not important. What’s important is that he mentioned it._ **

**What else did he say about her?**

**_That he moved on and that there were purer women to love._ **

**I don’t think he was telling the truth.**

**_Me neither._ **


	53. Flight to Freedom

Easter holiday’s had arrived. The weather outside was growing warmer, but all of the fifth and seventh years were forced to remain inside and study. Harry had grown very distant, and he thought that Ron and Hermione hadn’t realized. Emile didn’t tell anyone that she had invaded his mind as he slept, and she certainly didn’t tell anyone that she knew what was troubling him. The poor kid had looked up to his parents for so long, it must have been hard to see that his father had been a bully. 

Daily Quidditch practice was getting worst and worst. Angelina looked as if she were ready to kill someone, the incompetence of the new beater was unbearable. Ron had to take him to the hospital wing one evening when he knocked himself out with his own bat.

Inside the space in the library was where Emile spent the majority of her time. Nathan and Lee came in and out, and Fred and George popped in only occasionally.

“Hiya, Em,” Fred grinned as he walked in with his brother, who had his hands behind his back. “Check out what mom sent you.”

“Ta-da!” George pulled out a large, handsome chocolate easter egg, decorated in fancy spirals.

“Oh, it’s very nice. I don’t know if I can bring myself to eat something so pretty,” Emile stared at the egg as George handed it to her.

“I’ll eat it if you won’t,” Fred offered.

Emile slapped his outstretched hands.”Eat your own.”

“Already have,” Fred laughed.

Emile broke off a small piece of the egg and put it in her mouth, savoring the chocolate as she continued mapping out the movement of Mars throughout the year.

“So Emile,” Fred began with a glance at his brother. “We had a proposition for you.”

“Let’s hear it,” Emile said as she rolled up her completed chart.

“So, tomorrow school resumes,” Fred began.

“And Harry’s been very stressed recently and would love a chat with dear old Sirius,” George grinned.

“”So we’re causing a diversion. . .” Fred gave George a nervous glance, “And we also plan on leaving.”

Emile stared from Weasley to the other. They were smiling at her, but George’s smile was faltering.

“Alright. And?” Emile looked George in the eyes.

“And what?”

“What’s the proposition?” Emile snapped impatiently.

“Come with us!” Fred said eagerly.

“Me?” Emile stared at Fred. “You’re joking, right?”

“No?” Fred gave George another nervous glance.

Emile spluttered for a moment, unable to find the right words. “I’m on Quidditch – Angelina needs me. And N.E.W.T.’s are coming, I need to pass those. I’m not good with pranking – ”

“If you don’t want to just say it,” Fred said with a shrug.

“I do,” Emile objected, “It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just that this is your thing, and not mine.”

“So you won’t be mad at us if we leave?” George said a bit quietly.

“Of course not,” Emile gave a sad smile. “I couldn’t stay mad at red one and red two.”

“Alright, well here’s the plan,” Fred said as he grinned from Emile to George.

Emile didn’t approve. But she also couldn’t do anything to stop them. They had a knack for the joke shop business, and she didn’t.

“Oh, cheer up Em,” Fred said as he finished talking. “Maybe when you come work with Ollivander you can room with us.”

“Oh, I doubt your mother would approve,” Emile said with a small laugh.

The next day flew by in a flurry of anticipation. Just before their last class George went up to Emile and drew her in for an unusually tight hug.

“Are you alright?” Emile whispered in his ear after an unusually long silence from the red head.

“I’m fine, just, just let me do this,” George whispered back.

They didn’t break apart until the bell had rung, summoning George off to transfiguration and leaving Emile watching him go for the first time that day.

She completely forgot what time they were planning on leaving, and found herself struggling through the crowd gathered in the entrance hall for a last glimpse of her friends.

Students were standing all around the walls in a great ring (some of them, Emile noticed, covered in a substance that looked very like Stinksap); teachers and ghosts were also in the crowd. Prominent among the onlookers were members of the Inquisitorial Squad, who were all looking exceptionally pleased with themselves, and Peeves, who was bobbing overhead, gazed down upon Fred and George, who stood in the middle of the floor with the unmistakable look of two people who had just been cornered. 

“So!” said Umbridge triumphantly, standing on the stairs amongst the students in an attempt to appear taller. “So . . . you think it amusing to turn a school corridor into a swamp, do you?” 

“Pretty amusing, yeah,” said Fred, looking back up at her without the slightest sign of fear. 

Filch elbowed his way closer to Umbridge, almost crying with happiness. 

“I’ve got the form, Headmistress,” he said hoarsely, waving the piece of parchment Harry had just seen him take from her desk. “I’ve got the form and I’ve got the whips waiting. . . . Oh, let me do it now. . . .” 

“Very good, Argus,” she said. “You two,” she went on, gazing down at Fred and George, “are about to learn what happens to wrongdoers in my school.” 

“You know what?” said Fred. “I don’t think we are.” 

He turned to his twin. “George,” said Fred, “I think we’ve outgrown full-time education.” 

“Yeah, I’ve been feeling that way myself,” said George lightly. 

“Time to test our talents in the real world, d’you reckon?” asked Fred. 

“Definitely,” said George. 

And before Umbridge could say a word, they raised their wands and said together, “Accio Brooms!” 

Emile heard a loud crash somewhere in the distance. Fred and George’s broomsticks, one still trailing the heavy chain and iron peg with which Umbridge had fastened them to the wall, were hurtling along the corridor toward their owners. They turned left, streaked down the stairs, and stopped sharply in front of the twins, the chain clattering loudly on the flagged stone floor. 

“We won’t be seeing you,” Fred told Professor Umbridge, swinging his leg over his broomstick. 

“Yeah, don’t bother to keep in touch,” said George, mounting his own. 

Fred looked around at the assembled students, and at the silent, watchful crowd. 

“If anyone fancies buying a Portable Swamp, as demonstrated upstairs, come to number ninety-three, Diagon Alley — Weasleys’ Wizarding Wheezes,” he said in a loud voice. “Our new premises!” 

“Special discounts to Hogwarts students who swear they’re going to use our products to get rid of this old bat,” added George, pointing at Professor Umbridge. 

“STOP THEM!” shrieked Umbridge, but it was too late. As the Inquisitorial Squad closed in, Fred and George kicked off from the floor, shooting fifteen feet into the air, the iron peg swinging dangerously below. Fred looked across the hall at the poltergeist bobbing on his level above the crowd. 

“Give her hell from us, Peeves.” 

And Peeves, whom no one had ever seen take an order from a student before, swept his belled hat from his head and sprang to a salute as Fred and George wheeled about to tumultuous applause from the students below and sped out of the open front doors into the glorious sunset. 

**_There they go._ **

**They’re going to be fine.**

**_How about you?_ **

Emile didn’t answer. 


	54. NEWT's

The story of Fred and George’s flight to freedom was retold so often over the next few days that Emile could tell it would soon become the stuff of Hogwarts legend. Within a week, even those who had been eyewitnesses were half-convinced that they had seen the twins dive-bomb Umbridge on their brooms, pelting her with Dungbombs before zooming out of the doors. In the immediate aftermath of their departure there was a great wave of talk about copying them, so that Emile frequently heard students saying things like, “Honestly, some days I just feel like jumping on my broom and leaving this place,” or else, “One more lesson like that and I might just do a Weasley. . . .” 

Fred and George had made sure that nobody was likely to forget them very soon. For one thing, they had not left instructions on how to remove the swamp that now filled the corridor on the fifth floor of the east wing. Umbridge and Filch had been observed trying different means of removing it but without success. Eventually the area was roped off and Filch, gnashing his teeth furiously, was given the task of punting students across it to their classrooms. Emile was certain that teachers like McGonagall or Flitwick could have removed the swamp in an instant, but just as in the case of Fred and George’s Wildfire Whiz-Bangs, they seemed to prefer to watch Umbridge struggle. 

Then there were the two large broom-shaped holes in Umbridge’s office door, through which Fred and George’s Cleansweeps had smashed to rejoin their masters. Filch fitted a new door and removed Harry’s Firebolt to the dungeons where, it was rumored, Umbridge had set an armed security troll to guard it. 

Inspired by Fred and George’s example, a great number of students were now vying for the newly vacant positions of Troublemakers-in-Chief. In spite of the new door, somebody managed to slip a hairy snouted niffler into Umbridge’s office, which promptly tore the place apart in its search for shiny objects, leapt on Umbridge on her reentrance, and tried to gnaw the rings off her stubby fingers. Dungbombs and Stinkpellets were dropped so frequently in the corridors that it became the new fashion for students to perform Bubble-Head Charms on themselves before leaving lessons, which ensured them a supply of fresh clean air, even though it gave them all the peculiar appearance of wearing upside-down goldfish bowls on their heads. 

Filch prowled the corridors with a horsewhip ready in his hands, desperate to catch miscreants, but the problem was that there were now so many of them that he did not know which way to turn. The Inquisitorial Squad were attempting to help him, but odd things kept happening to its members. Warrington of the Slytherin Quidditch team reported to the hospital wing with a horrible skin complaint that made him look as though he had been coated in cornflakes. Pansy Parkinson missed all her lessons the following day, as she had sprouted antlers. 

Meanwhile it became clear just how many Skiving Snackboxes Fred and George had managed to sell before leaving Hogwarts. Umbridge only had to enter her classroom for the students assembled there to faint, vomit, develop dangerous fevers, or else spout blood from both nostrils. Shrieking with rage and frustration she attempted to trace the mysterious symptoms to their source, but the students told her stubbornly they were suffering “Umbridge-itis.” After putting four successive classes in detention and failing to discover their secret she was forced to give up and allow the bleeding, swooning, sweating, and vomiting students to leave her classes in droves. 

But not even the users of the Snackboxes could compete with that master of chaos, Peeves, who seemed to have taken Fred’s parting words deeply to heart. Cackling madly, he soared through the school, upending tables, bursting out of blackboards, and toppling statues and vases. Twice he shut Mrs. Norris inside suits of armor, from which she was rescued, yowling loudly, by the furious caretaker. He smashed lanterns and snuffed out candles, juggled burning torches over the heads of screaming students, caused neatly stacked piles of parchment to topple into fires or out of windows, flooded the second floor when he pulled off all the taps in the bathrooms, dropped a bag of tarantulas in the middle of the Great Hall during breakfast and, whenever he fancied a break, spent hours at a time floating along after Umbridge and blowing loud raspberries every time she spoke. 

None of the staff but Filch seemed to be stirring themselves to help her. Indeed, a week after Fred and George’s departure Emile witnessed Professor McGonagall walking right past Peeves, who was determinedly loosening a crystal chandelier, and could have sworn she heard her tell the poltergeist out of the corner of her mouth, “It unscrews the other way.” 

Emile found herself being a frequent supplier of dungbombs and Skiving Snackboxes to people who had run out. Fred and George had left her and Nathan in charge of their inventory, or whatever bit of inventory they chose to leave at Hogwarts. People would approach them in the hallway between classes, during mealtimes, and in the library with requests. They had gotten so popular that Nathan even suggested they begin to charge people extra for the supplies, but Emile refused.

The final match of the Quidditch season, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, was to take place on the last weekend of May. Although Slytherin had been narrowly defeated by Hufflepuff in their last match, Gryffindor was not daring to hope for victory, due mainly (though of course nobody said it to him) to Ron’s abysmal goalkeeping record. He, however, seemed to have found a new optimism. 

“I mean, I can’t get any worse, can I?” he said repeatedly during practice. “Nothing to lose now, is there?”

Lee, who had been very depressed since the departure of Fred and George, took a lot of convincing from Nathan, Emile, and Angelina to commentate during the next match. He did so, though very unenthusiastically.

“. . . Bradley . . . Davies . . . Chang,” he said, unenthusiastically listing off the names of the opposing team members as they entered the pitch.

“And they’re off!” said Lee. “And Davies takes the Quaffle immediately, Ravenclaw Captain Davies with the Quaffle, he dodges Johnson, he dodges Bell, he dodges Spinnet as well. . . . He’s going straight for goal! He’s going to shoot — and — and —” Lee swore very loudly. “And he’s scored.” 

Predictably, horribly, the Slytherins on the other side of the stands began to sing: 

**_Weasley cannot save a thing,_ **

**_He cannot block a single ring_ ** **_–_ **

**Shut up!**

**_I can’t help myself! It’s stuck in my_ ** **_–_ ** **_sorry_ ** **_–_ ** **_your head!_ **

Emile swore to herself and let off her anger by smacking a bludger toward Roger Davies, who barely avoided it.

At that moment her attention was drawn to Ron, who’s face was that of such concentration that Emile felt like she was looking at a stranger. He was playing like a completely different person, blocking quaffle after quaffle to the roar of an approving crowd. When Ginny caught the snitch, no one could believe that Gryffindor had won the house cup, Cho least of all. She flew down to the ground and threw her broom across the field, tears streaming down her face.

**_Merlin’s beard, get a grip._ **

**It hasn’t been a very good year for her, but this is going a bit overboard. I lost Cedric too.**

**_Yeah, and no one see’s you sobbing around every corner._ **

Emile smiled to herself as Gryffindors and their supporters rushed down to the field, lifting Ron up into the air.

_ Weasley can save anything,  _

_ He never leaves a single ring  _

_ That’s why Gryffindors all sing:  _

_ Weasley is our King.  _

The song was growing louder from a mass of red and gold moving slowly toward the castle, which was bearing a solitary figure upon its many shoulders.

_ Weasley is our King,  _

_ Weasley is our King,  _

_ He didn’t let the Quaffle in,  _

_ Weasley is our King . . . _

“HARRY! HERMIONE!” yelled Ron, waving the silver Quidditch Cup in the air and looking quite beside himself. “WE DID IT! WE WON!” 

Ron’s friends grinned from the left of the mob carrying Ron up to the castle. Emile noticed them whispering as she grabbed Lee, dragging him along with her to the kitchens to order a party unlike any other. Lee got more excited as Emile showed him the entrance to the kitchens, and he got a bit too excited when he began to ask for an unimaginably wide variety of sweets for the party. Surprisingly enough, the house elves managed to conjure up everything he had asked for, and they went up to the common room to celebrate a turn of luck for the Gryffindors.

Angelina was ecstatic, and passed out by three in the morning. Emile and Nathan stayed up till everyone had gone to bed and slept in the next day. Talk of Gryffindors victory was ringing throughout the hallways, and no foul version of Weasley is our King came from the Slytherins that day.

The castle grounds were gleaming in the sunlight as though freshly painted; the cloudless sky smiled at itself in the smoothly sparkling lake, the satin-green lawns rippled occasionally in a gentle breeze: June had arrived, but to the fifth and seventh years this meant only one thing: Their O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.’s were upon them at last. 

Their teachers were no longer setting them homework; lessons were devoted to reviewing those topics their teachers thought most likely to come up in the exams. The purposeful, feverish atmosphere drove nearly everything but the O.W.L.s from Emile’s mind, though she did wonder occasionally whether she ought to visit Snape for more Occlumency lessons before the year ended.

They got their examination schedules a week into June. The tests were spread out over a course of two weeks. N.E.W.T.s schedule’s were a bit different, since not everyone took the same N.E.W.T. classes, so they had either large gaps between tests or all of their tests at once. O.W.L.s were held in the Great Hall, so N.E.W.T.s were taken in one of the larger spare classrooms.

Emile had Defense Against the Dark Arts written and practical exams on Monday, Charms written and practical on Tuesday along with Astronomy in the evening and a break for the rest of the week. The following Monday she had History of Magic written exam, and she finished it all off with Potions written and practical on Wednesday.

The Sunday before the test Emile and Nathan were late to dinner, they had lost track of time whilst in the library. On their way into the Great Hall they passed a group of Ancient looking witches and wizards.

“It’s the examiners,” Nathan whispered to Emile when they came into sight, a terrified expression on his face.

“Journey was fine, journey was fine, we’ve made it plenty of times before!” one witch said impatiently. “Now, I haven’t heard from Dumbledore lately!” she added, peering around the hall as though hopeful he might suddenly emerge from a broom cupboard. “No idea where he is, I suppose?” 

“None at all,” said Umbridge, shooting a malevolent look at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were now dawdling around the foot of the stairs as Ron pretended to do up his shoelace. “But I daresay the Ministry of Magic will track him down soon enough. . . .”

“I doubt it,” shouted tiny Professor Marchbanks, “not if Dumbledore doesn’t want to be found! I should know. . . . Examined him personally in Transfiguration and Charms when he did N.E.W.T.s . . . Did things with a wand I’d never seen before . . .” 

Umbridge seemed very flustered by this response, but Emile and Nathan didn’t hear what she said as they sat down at the table, glancing over at the nervous fifth years as they did. Some were anxiously reading through notes as they ate, missing several bites as they did so and spilling food onto their laps. Others were wolfing down food much too fast and running out of the hall, for the first time in their lives eager to get back to studying.

“If we’ve done this once we can do it again,” Lee said with an eye roll as Dean tripped as he ran past them.

“Don’t underestimate the exams,” Emile chirped, watching Seamus help Dean up with a sly grin.

No one talked much at breakfast that day. Emile was absent mindedly refilling peoples cups with water as their backs were turned. Nathan had to force Lee to eat; he who had been so incredibly sure of himself the previous day was now incredibly nervous.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts written exam was easy enough. If it hadn’t been for the DA, Emile was certain she would have failed it. Her essay covering all aspects of a Patronus Charm was two inches more then the paper had asked for.

During the practical test she did alright, but not as well as she could have. Though the examiner was impressed that Emile could produce a strong silver vapor while performing the patronus charm, Emile was disappointed that it did not take it usual form of a Snow Leopard.

“It’s because of the nerves,” Nathan said comfortingly during dinner.

“No, it’s because I couldn’t really grasp my happy thought,” Emile grumbled, taking a bite of ham.

Emile thought she did quite well on the charms written test. She didn’t write too much, just the amount the test asked for. During the practical test however, she mixed up the color changing charm and the growth charm, ending up with a hamster the size of a miniature horse.

That evening’s Astronomy test went well. Emile successfully mapped and named each of Neptune’s moons, while Lee had the misfortune of spilling ink over half of his paper three minutes before the exam was finished, and when he attempted to siphon off the ink a third of his star chart went with it.

“I’m going to fail,” Lee said angrily for the fifth time as they headed back to the common room.

“I can get you a pillow to punch if that’s what you want,” Emile offered as they entered the common room.

Lee shook his head. “Thanks, but we rolled up Fred and George’s mattresses to use as punching bags.”

“Oh no way, I need to see this!” Emile laughed, running ahead of Lee and up the stairs.

“No, wait!” came a cry from behind her, but Emile didn’t listen.

Sure enough, two large punching bags were now hanging from the ceiling. The floor was also littered with clothing, including boxers. Emile’s face flushed but she pretended not to notice and instead threw a few punches at a nearby bag, her back to the mess.

“I don’t come in here for half a week and you turn this place into a dump,” Emile scolded as Lee came in a moment later.

“I wasn’t saying don’t come in because of that!” Lee said indignantly, his face flushing.

“Of course not,” Emile smiled and turned her back to Lee as he quickly picked up the clothes off of the floor.

“Umbridge’s rule about boys and girls mingling,” Lee whispered, his ears turning red.

“Come on Lee, what’s the worst she could do to you?” Emile smirked at her friend. “Throw you in Azkaban?”

“More like tell my parents,” Lee moaned. “And I don’t think she would word it in a way my father would approve of.”

“Alright I see your point,” Emile laughed and picked her bookbag off of the floor. “Go study for Transfiguration tomorrow, I’m going to relax.”

Emile spent the next two days aimlessly wandering the castle with Carrot, talking to Bartemius while sketching in her journal. A few teachers passed her during that time, but if they actually took any notice of the seventh year lazily sitting around in the entrance hall they didn’t say anything. 

Carrot was growing old and weary, Emile had a prickling feeling that she wouldn’t be with her much longer. The poor old rat had difficulty scampering along any surface, and spent most of her time sleeping.

Emile spent the weekend cooped up in the library with Lee and Nathan. Nathan was preparing for Ancient Runes and Lee for Potions.

“You think we’ll need to know all this stuff about Felix Felicis?” Lee frowned as he flipped through his notes.

“Probably,” Emile replied without looking up from her History of Magic notes, where she was writing a last minute summary of the Giant Wars.

Monday’s History of Magic exam was painful to write; all of the names sounded the same. Lee was convinced he’d mixed up the first and last names of the wizards in the Medieval Assembly of European Wizards.

Barty had been surprisingly helpful. He had received twelve O.W.L.’s, and helped Emile through any questions she had difficulty on.

**_Are you sure it was Swarmy the Magnificent._ **

**No.**

**_Are you going to go back and change it?_ **

**Not unless I remember his real name.**

**_Cough Smarmy cough._ **

**Thank you, Bartemius. My respect for you grows with each day that passes.**

**_Focus on the test._ **

They didn’t get much of a break after that exam. Lee dragged Emile up to the library for more Potions review and didn’t allow her to leave until she could recite the procedure for brewing Felix Felicis and Wolfsbane Potion by heart.

Turns out that she didn’t need to know anything about Felix Felicis for the written exam, though there were three questions on Wolfsbane potions. Emile wrote a full fifteen inches on the proper procedure to brew Polyjuice Potion, a potion that apparently was deemed most difficult to brew by the ministry. This was a surprise to Emile, since it seemed to be quite popular when it came to deceiving people.

After a quick lunch of sandwiches and iced pumpkin juice, the seventh years trooped into the Dungeons for their Potions practical exam.

“Good Evening, students,” chirped a happy witch from the front of the room. She seemed happy enough to be there, considering she’d been testing students all week. 

“Today is all up to you,” she said with a beam around the room. Lee shot Emile a nervous look from across the aisle, and she smiled back at him.

“You have free reigns to produce whatever potion, within your abilities, that you can. This does not necessarily mean you must produce a difficult potion,” she added quickly as mutters filled the classroom. “I would award someone who was to present me with a simple Draught of Death an E if it was done well enough.”

With this she signalled that they were to begin, and there was an immediate upswing in the level of noise in the room.

“AND NO TALKING,” the tiny woman boomed over the noise, startling a large amount of students. One poor Hufflepuff girl dropped her box of newts eyes, spilling the all over the floor.

Snape, who had been watching from behind the tiny woman swept over to the girl and chased her away, cleaning up the mess with a wave of his wand. 

Emile, who had been figuring out what she ought to do, had decided on a more difficult potion. She’d never attempted to do it before, but a sudden wave of self confidence had swept over her.

She filled her potion with the desired amount of water before heading off to collect her supplies. 

“Ashwinder egg, horseradish,” she muttered to herself as she swept around the room. 

“You aren’t,” Lee whispered as she passed by him.

“I am. Murtlap, tincture, thyme…”

When Emile had all of the ingredients in front of her she added the egg and horseradish into the cauldron before leaving it to heat, working on mincing the tentacle like growths that were found on murtlap.She caught Snape’s eye across the room, he was frowning at her a bit more than usual.

When the concoction had heated Emile juiced a squill bulb and stirred vigorously before adding the minced murtlap tentacles and let that sit. Then she added the tincture and thyme and stirred slowly with one hand while crushing Occamy shell with the other, sprinkling it in. Then she heated the cauldron a bit more and waited for a few minutes. There was only ten minutes left as Emile sprinkled powdered common rue into the cauldron and heated the potion one last time.

At this point it had turned a mellow, yellow green color like the inside of a growing tree. Emile took out her wand with shaking hands, her confidence wavering. Performing a figure eight over the cauldron, she said as quietly but forcefully as she could, “Felixempra!”

The potion rippled in the center, tiny droplets of it were leaping out of the potion. With each ripple it turned more and more yellow until finally, a rippling mass of gold shone in front of her. Here and there droplets of the potion would leap out, like goldfish, and land back in without making a splash.

“Alright!” The witch called from the front of the room. “Please fill a vial with your potion and bring it up to the front.”

“Emile!” Lee whispered aggressively from behind her in line. “How does my Wolfsbane look?”

“Holy shit Lee, why would you even try to do that,” Emile whispered fervently, staring at the brown mass in his vial. “I’m even more surprised that you got it right.”

**_Me too. And Felix Felicis? Really?_ **

**What?**

**_Are you trying to show off?_ **

**Yes. My N.E.W.T. depends on this potion. Of course I’m going to show off.**

Lee smiled and shot her a thumbs up as Emile approached the front of the line. 

“And what have we here?” the witch looked over Emile’s vial, jaw dropping. “Goodness! Felix Felicis? What a bold move! I hope Professor Snape is proud to have such an ambitious student. I do believe he did the same potion during his N.E.W.T. exams.”

Emile stared at the witch, her heart racing. “Oh, well, thank you.”

The witch winked at her as she walked away, and Emile felt a knot in her stomach ease slightly. It disappeared completely when Snape muttered “Well done,” as she passed him on her way out. Unless she was mistaken, she had just gotten an O on her Potions N.E.W.T..

“No more studying!” Emile cheered as Nathan met her and Lee outside the common room.

“Let’s go outside,” Nathan suggested as they all clambered through the portrait hole.

“Calm down, we’re still in our robes,’ Emile said with an eye roll. “I’ll meet you guys down here in ten minutes.”

“So, fifteen?” Lee laughed and nudged her in the side.

“Don’t be rude!” Emile scoffed indignantly, shoving him back.

Nathan and Lee laughed as she swept up the stairs to her room, which was currently abandoned. Angelina was probably studying with Alicia, and Katie was a sixth year so she didn’t have to worry about N.E.W.T.s or O.W.L.s. 

Emile put on shorts and a black t-shirt, emptying her bookbag of its jumbled notes and textbooks and putting in her pencil pouch and sketchbook, as well as whatever was left of her treacle fudge. Her short hair had been pulled back into two little pigtails, to prevent it from getting caught in any potions. So she pulled it out.

“Come on!” she chirped as she skipped back into the common room, pulling Lee and Nathan along with her. “But tomorrow you have to study transfiguration.”

“Alright, mom,” Nathan said with an eye roll.

They spent the day outside under a tree overlooking the black lake. Nathan fell asleep in the shade at one point, so Emile and Lee snuck off to cool their feet in the lake.

“Hey Lee, what was your patronus?” Emile asked as they glimpsed the giant squid basking further along the shallows. 

Lee whipped his wand out of the pocket of his shorts, swishing it through the air as he crowed, “Expecto Patronum!”

When the silver vapor took form it dashed around Emile, it’s large ears flattened playfully.

“Aw, a Fennec Fox,” Emile smiled as it leaped across the lake, hardly causing a ripple in the cold water.

“Show me yours,” Lee grinned as he watched his fox circle the squid.

Emile pulled out her wand, taking a deep breath. “Expecto Patronum!”

To her surprise the silver vapor took the form of the snow leopard, following Lee’s fox across the lake.

“Nice! A snow leopard!” Lee said admiringly as the wisps of silver vapor faded away.

**I don’t understand… I was thinking about Lee.**

**_Maybe George isn’t your happy thought._ **

**Maybe…**

Thursday evening Emile was getting ready for bed when a commotion in the common room grabbed her attention.

“What is going on out there?” Angelina said incredulously as she looked down the stairs.

“Only one way to find out,” Emile shrugged, grabbing Angelina by the arm and dragging her down the stairs, to where Seamus and Dean were telling a story about Umbridge attacking Hagrid during their Astronomy O.W.L..

“And when McGonagall ran out to try to stop them they stunned her, four stunners straight to the chest!” Seamus exclaimed to a shocked audience.

“But why sack Hagrid now?” asked Angelina, shaking her head. “It’s not like Trelawney, he’s been teaching much better than usual this year!” 

“Umbridge hates part-humans,” said Hermione bitterly, flopping down into an armchair. “She was always going to try and get Hagrid out.” 

“And she thought Hagrid was putting nifflers in her office,” piped up Katie. 

“Oh blimey,” said Lee, covering his mouth. “It’s me’s been putting the nifflers in her office, Fred and George left me a couple, I’ve been levitating them in through her window. . . .” 

“She’d have sacked him anyway,” said Dean. “He was too close to Dumbledore.” 

“That’s true,” said Harry, sinking into an armchair beside Hermione’s. 

“I just hope Professor McGonagall’s all right,” said Lavender tearfully. 

“They carried her back up to the castle, we watched through the dormitory window,” said Colin Creevey “She didn’t look very well. . . .” 

“Madam Pomfrey will sort her out,” said Alicia firmly. “She’s never failed yet.” 

It was nearly four in the morning before the common room cleared. Emile stayed up to make sure everyone had gone to bed, as Head Girl she considered it her responsibility. Especially now that Professor McGonagall had gone. Nathan stayed up till one, but Emile chased him to bed after that. He had Ancient Runes tomorrow.

The next day Emile was sitting in the common room, absentmindedly flipping through her sketches. She was waiting for Lee, Nathan, and Angelina to return from exams when Seamus and Dean’s conversation behind her caught her attention.

“You don’t need to get overpriced, black market butterbeers,” She scoffed and jumped over the sofa they were in, sitting down next to them. “I’ll let you in on Fred and George’s secret to getting food for party’s, if you promise not to tell anyone else until you’re a seventh year. Then pass it on to the next generation of troublemakers.”

“You’ve got a deal,” Seamus grinned at Emile while Dean stared at her.

“Alright then,” Emile leaned forward, taking the piece of parchment from Dean’s hands and unrolling it a bit more. “Here’s a map of the corridor it’s in. Go down the stairs leading to the Hufflepuff basement, there will be a painting of a bowl of fruit. When you see it, tickle the pear and the painting will reveal a passageway.”

“This sounds sketchy,” Dean said suspiciously, looking at Emile through narrowed eyes.

“Why would I lie to you?” Emile rolled her eyes. “If you don’t trust me enough to go yourselves then I can show you.”

Seeing as they preferred that Emile showed them the kitchen, Emile led the way down the stairs, past the great hall, and to the first floor corridor. She dramatically tickled the pear in the painting before stepping back, allowing the fifth years to step inside. 

“Mistress Emile!” Kringle squeaked as they entered the bustling room. 

“Hello Kringle,” Emile smiled at the house elf. “This is Seamus, and this is Dean. They want some food for an end of Exam party in the common room-”

“Actually, it’s in the spare boy’s bedroom,” Dean interrupted. “We want it to be just fifth and seventh years.”

“Why don’t you order then?” Emile stepped back and left the kitchen.

On her way back to the common room she caught sight of Ginny and Luna, standing at the end of one of the corridors.

**_Where are you going? You’ll miss the party._ **

**I want to see what they’re up to. The way Ginny’s standing, it looks a lot like how Fred and George stood before they played a major prank.**

**_Why would you pay attention to how they stand?_ **

**Why wouldn’t I?**

“Hello Ginny,” she said, walking up to her. “What are you planning?”

“Ssshhhh!” Ginny shushed Emile and looked around before whispering, “Harry needs to talk to Sirius again, if anyone asks there’s a load of Garroting Gas at the end of this corridor.”

“Alright, should I stay then?” Emile asked nervously.

“We could use someone more experienced in dueling to fight off any members of the inquisitorial squad,” Luna said vaguely, flinching and swiping at the air. “Nargles, nargles everywhere.”

At that moment Ron came down the hall with four large Slytherins in tow.

“WEASLEYISOURKING,” he was yelling frantically as the Slytherins drew their wands and pointed them at the group.

“The Inquisitorial Squad,” Emile groaned, drawing her own wand.

“Get them!” Malfoy snarled, leaping towards Luna and magically gagging her. Emile was about to hex him when Warrington froze her with a full body bind and gagged her as well.

“Expelliarmus!” came a yell out of nowhere as Neville attempted to stop Warrington from taking Ginny. 

They were all led into Umbridge’s office, where the short, pink woman was standing and Harry and Hermione were pinned against the wall. 

“Got ’em all,” said Warrington, shoving Ron roughly forward into the room. 

“That one.” he poked a thick finger at Neville, “tried to stop me taking her,” he pointed at Ginny, who was trying to kick the shins of the large Slytherin girl holding her, “so I brought him along too.” 

“Good, good,” said Umbridge, watching Ginny’s struggles. “Well, it looks as though Hogwarts will shortly be a Weasley-free zone, doesn’t it?” 

Malfoy laughed loudly and sycophantically. Umbridge gave her wide, complacent smile and settled herself into a chintz-covered armchair, blinking up at her captives like a toad in a flowerbed. 

“So, Potter,” she said. “You stationed lookouts around my office and you sent this buffoon,” she nodded at Ron, and Malfoy laughed even louder, “to tell me the poltergeist was wreaking havoc in the Transfiguration department when I knew perfectly well that he was busy smearing ink on the eyepieces of all the school telescopes, Mr. Filch having just informed me so.” 

“Clearly, it was very important for you to talk to somebody. Was it Albus Dumbledore? Or the half-breed, Hagrid? I doubt it was Minerva McGonagall, I hear she is still too ill to talk to anyone. . . .” 

Malfoy and a few of the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad laughed some more at that. 

“It’s none of your business who I talk to,” Harry snarled. 

Umbridge’s slack face seemed to tighten. 

“Very well,” she said in her most dangerous and falsely sweet voice. “Very well, Mr. Potter . . . I offered you the chance to tell me freely. You refused. I have no alternative but to force you. Draco — fetch Professor Snape.” 

Malfoy stowed Harry’s wand inside his robes and left the room, smirking.

There was silence in the office except for the fidgetings and scufflings resultant from the Slytherins’ efforts to keep Ron and the others under control. Ron’s lip was bleeding onto Umbridge’s carpet as he struggled against Warrington’s half nelson. Ginny was still trying to stamp on the feet of the sixth-year girl who had both her upper arms in a tight grip. Neville was turning steadily more purple in the face while tugging at Crabbe’s arms, and Hermione was attempting vainly to throw Millicent Bulstrode off her. Luna, however, stood limply by the side of her captor, gazing vaguely out of the window as though rather bored by the proceedings. Emile, who was being held by the arm by the same person who was holding Luna, leaned against the wall with a sigh.

“You wanted to see me, Headmistress?” said Snape, looking around at all the pairs of struggling students with an expression of complete indifference. 

“Ah, Professor Snape,” said Umbridge, smiling widely and standing up again. “Yes, I would like another bottle of Veritaserum, as quick as you can, please.” 

“You took my last bottle to interrogate Potter,” he said, observing her coolly through his curtains of black hair. “Surely you did not use it all? I told you that three drops would be sufficient.” 

Umbridge flushed. 

“You can make some more, can’t you?” she said, her voice becoming more sweetly girlish as it always did when she was furious. 

“Certainly,” said Snape, his lip curling. “It takes a full moon cycle to mature, so I should have it ready for you in around a month.” 

“A month?” squawked Umbridge, swelling toadishly. “A month? But I need it this evening, Snape! I have just found Potter using my fire to communicate with a person or persons unknown!” 

“Really?” said Snape, showing his first, faint sign of interest as he looked around at Harry. “Well, it doesn’t surprise me. Potter has never shown much inclination to follow school rules.” 

“I wish to interrogate him!” shouted Umbridge angrily, and Snape looked away from Harry back into her furiously quivering face. “I wish you to provide me with a potion that will force him to tell me the truth!” 

“I have already told you,” said Snape smoothly, “that I have no further stocks of Veritaserum. Unless you wish to poison Potter — and I assure you I would have the greatest sympathy with you if you did — I cannot help you. The only trouble is that most venoms act too fast to give the victim much time for truth-telling. . . .” 

Everyone stared at Umbridge as she went ballistic.

“You are on probation!” she shrieked, and Snape looked back at her, his eyebrows slightly raised. “You are being deliberately unhelpful! I expected better, Lucius Malfoy always speaks most highly of you! Now get out of my office!”

Snape gave her an ironic bow and turned to leave. Emile caught his eye as he left, and he had a somewhat bored expression. She rolled her eyes and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

“He’s got Padfoot!” Harry shouted. “He’s got Padfoot at the place where it’s hidden!” 

Snape had stopped with his hand on Umbridge’s door handle. Emile was staring at Harry. 

**Voldemort has Sirius?**

**_Don’t mention his name!_ **

“Padfoot?” cried Professor Umbridge, looking eagerly from Harry to Snape. 

“What is Padfoot? Where what is hidden? What does he mean, Snape?” 

Snape looked around at Harry. His face was inscrutable. 

“I have no idea,” said Snape coldly. “Potter, when I want nonsense shouted at me I shall give you a Babbling Beverage. And Crabbe, loosen your hold a little, if Longbottom suffocates it will mean a lot of tedious paperwork, and I am afraid I shall have to mention it on your reference if ever you apply for a job.” 

He closed the door behind him with a snap.

“Very well,” she said, and she pulled out her wand. “Very well . . . I am left with no alternative. . . . This is more than a matter of school discipline. . . . This is an issue of Ministry security. . . . Yes . . . yes . . .” 

She seemed to be talking herself into something. She was shifting her weight nervously from foot to foot, staring at Harry, beating her wand against her empty palm and breathing heavily.

“You are forcing me, Potter. . . . I do not want to,” said Umbridge, still moving restlessly on the spot, “but sometimes circumstances justify the use . . . I am sure the Minister will understand that I had no choice. . . .” 

Malfoy was watching her with a hungry expression on his face. 

“The Cruciatus Curse ought to loosen your tongue,” said Umbridge quietly. 

“No!” shrieked Hermione. “Professor Umbridge — it’s illegal” 

\- but Umbridge took no notice. There was a nasty, eager, excited look on her face. She raised her wand. 

“The Minister wouldn’t want you to break the law, Professor Umbridge!” cried Hermione. 

“What Cornelius doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” said Umbridge, who was now panting slightly as she pointed her wand at different parts of Harry’s body in turn, apparently trying to decide what would hurt the most. 

“He never knew I ordered dementors after Potter last summer, but he was delighted to be given the chance to expel him, all the same. . . .” 

“It was you?” gasped Harry. “You sent the dementors after me?” 

“Somebody had to act,” breathed Umbridge, as her wand came to rest pointing directly at Harry’s forehead. “They were all bleating about silencing you somehow — discrediting you — but I was the one who actually did something about it. . . . Only you wriggled out of that one, didn’t you, Potter? Not today, though, not now . . .”

And taking a deep breath, she cried, “Cruc —” 

“NO!” shouted Hermione in a cracked voice from behind Millicent Bulstrode. “No — Harry — Harry, we’ll have to tell her!” 

“No way!” yelled Harry.

“We’ll have to, Harry, she’ll force it out of you anyway, what’s . . . what’s the point. . . ?” 

And Hermione began to cry weakly into the back of Millicent Bulstrode’s robes. Millicent stopped trying to squash her against the wall immediately and dodged out of her way looking disgusted. 

“Well, well, well!” said Umbridge, looking triumphant. “Little Miss Question-All is going to give us some answers! Come on then, girl, come on!” 

“Er — my — nee — no!” shouted Ron through his gag. 

Ginny was staring at Hermione as though she had never seen her before; Neville, still choking for breath, was gazing at her too. But Harry had just noticed something. Though Hermione was sobbing desperately into her hands, there was no trace of a tear. . . . 

“I’m — I’m sorry everyone,” said Hermione. “But — I can’t stand it —”

“That’s right, that’s right, girl!” said Umbridge, seizing Hermione by the shoulders, thrusting her into the abandoned chintz chair and leaning over her. “Now then . . . with whom was Potter communicating just now?” 

“Well,” gulped Hermione into her hands, “well, he was trying to speak to Professor Dumbledore. . . .” 

Ron froze, his eyes wide; Emile had stood up straight again; Ginny stopped trying to stamp on her Slytherin captor’s toes; even Luna looked mildly surprised. Fortunately, the attention of Umbridge and her minions was focused too exclusively upon Hermione to notice these suspicious signs. 

**_You kind of got roped into this. Leave soon so that you won’t get into trouble._ **

**I’m already in trouble.**

**_Come on, just say you were talking to Ginny about her brothers or something._ **

**Yeah, like that would help.**

“Dumbledore?” said Umbridge eagerly. “You know where Dumbledore is, then?” 

“Well . . . no!” sobbed Hermione. “We’ve tried the Leaky Cauldron in Diagon Alley and the Three Broomsticks and even the Hog’s Head —” 

“Idiot girl, Dumbledore won’t be sitting in a pub when the whole Ministry’s looking for him!” shouted Umbridge, disappointment etched in every sagging line of her face. 

“But — but we needed to tell him something important!” wailed Hermione, holding her hands more tightly over her face, not, out of anguish, but to disguise the continued absence of tears. 

“Yes?” said Umbridge with a sudden resurgence of excitement. “What was it you wanted to tell him?” 

“We . . . we wanted to tell him it’s r-ready!” choked Hermione. 

“What’s ready?” demanded Umbridge, and now she grabbed Hermione’s shoulders again and shook her slightly. “What’s ready, girl?” 

“The . . . the weapon,” said Hermione. 

“Weapon? Weapon?” said Umbridge, and her eyes seemed to pop with excitement. “You have been developing some method of resistance? A weapon you could use against the Ministry? On Professor Dumbledore’s orders, of course?”

“Y-y-yes,” gasped Hermione. “But he had to leave before it was finished and n-n-now we’ve finished it for him, and we c-c-can’t find him t-t-to tell him!” 

“What kind of weapon is it?” said Umbridge harshly, her stubby hands still tight on Hermione’s shoulders. 

“We don’t r-r-really understand it,” said Hermione, sniffing loudly. “We j-j-just did what P-P-Professor Dumbledore told us t-t-to do . . .” 

Umbridge straightened up, looking exultant. 

“Lead me to the weapon,” she said. 

“I’m not showing . . . them,” said Hermione shrilly, looking around at the Slytherins through her fingers. 

“It is not for you to set conditions,” said Professor Umbridge harshly. “Fine,” said Hermione, now sobbing into her hands again, “fine . . . let them see it, I hope they use it on you! In fact, I wish you’d invite loads and loads of people to come and see! Th-that would serve you right — oh, I’d love it if the wh-whole school knew where it was, and how to u-use it, and then if you annoy any of them they’ll be able to s-sort you out!” 

These words had a powerful impact on Umbridge. She glanced swiftly and suspiciously around at her Inquisitorial Squad, her bulging eyes resting for a moment on Malfoy, who was too slow to disguise the look of eagerness and greed that had appeared on his face. Umbridge contemplated Hermione for another long moment and then spoke in what she clearly thought was a motherly voice.

“All right, dear, let’s make it just you and me . . . and we’ll take Potter too, shall we? Get up, now —” 

“Professor,” said Malfoy eagerly, “Professor Umbridge, I think some of the squad should come with you to look after —” 

“I am a fully qualified Ministry official, Malfoy, do you really think I cannot manage two wandless teenagers alone?” asked Umbridge sharply. 

“In any case, it does not sound as though this weapon is something that schoolchildren should see. You will remain here until I return and make sure none of these” — she gestured around at Ron, Ginny, Emile, Neville, and Luna — “escape.” 

“All right,” said Malfoy, looking sulky and disappointed. 

“And you two can go ahead of me and show me the way,” said Umbridge, pointing at Harry and Hermione with her wand. “Lead on. . . .” 


	55. To the Ministry

After a good thirty minutes of silence Emile’s captor had loosened her grip on her, and Emile had slowly and carefully managed to draw her wand out of the Slytherins pocket. She locked eyes with Ginny, who had done the same on the other side of the room.

“Stupefy!” they yelled at the same time, Emile at her own captor and Ginny at Nevilles. Neville quickly got his own wand out and cast the Impediment Jinx on Malfoy, who afterward received a nasty bat bogey hex from Ginny. Warrington was disarmed by Emile and stunned by Luna and Ron simultaneously.

“They went to the forest!” Ron called as they ran out of the office; several long scratches running the length of Ginny’s cheek, a large purple lump was swelling above Neville’s right eye, and Ron’s lip was bleeding worse than ever.

“Come on Emile!” Luna called back a Emile hung back, unsure whether she ought to follow or not but she quickly followed the group. She was in too deep to leave now.

They found Harry and Hermione not very deep in the forest, cautiously peering from around tree’s as they headed towards the castle.

“So,” said Ron, pushing aside a low-hanging branch and holding out Harry’s wand, “had any ideas?”

“How did you get away?” asked Harry in amazement, taking his wand from Ron.

“Couple of Stunners, a Disarming Charm, Neville brought off a really nice little Impediment Jinx,” said Ron airily, now handing back Hermione’s wand too. “But Ginny was best, she got Malfoy — Bat Bogey Hex — it was superb, his whole face was covered in the great flapping things. Anyway, we saw you heading into the forest out of the window and followed. What’ve you done with Umbridge?”

“She got carried away,” said Harry. “By a herd of centaurs.”

“And they left you behind?” asked Ginny, looking astonished.

“No, they got chased off by Grawp,” said Harry.

“Who’s Grawp?” Luna asked interestedly.

“Hagrid’s little brother,” said Ron promptly. “Anyway, never mind that now. Harry, what did you find out in the fire? Has You-Know-Who got Sirius or — ?”

“Yes,” said Harry, “and I’m sure Sirius is still alive, but I can’t see how we’re going to get there to help him.” They all fell silent, looking rather scared. The problem facing them seemed insurmountable.

“Well, we’ll have to fly, won’t we?” said Luna in the closest thing to a matter-of-fact voice Harry had ever heard her use.

“Okay,” said Harry irritably, rounding on her, “first of all, ‘we’ aren’t doing anything if you’re including yourself in that, and second of all, Ron’s the only one with a broomstick that isn’t being guarded by a security troll, so —”

“I’ve got a broom!” said Ginny.

“Yeah, but you’re not coming,” said Ron angrily.

“Excuse me, but I care what happens to Sirius as much as you do!” said Ginny, her jaw set so that her resemblance to Fred and George was suddenly striking.

“You’re too —” Harry began.

“I’m three years older than you were when you fought You-Know-Who over the Sorcerer’s Stone,” she said fiercely, “and it’s because of me Malfoy’s stuck back in Umbridge’s office with giant flying bogeys attacking him —”

“Yeah, but —”

“We were all in the D.A. together,” said Neville quietly. “It was all supposed to be about fighting You-Know-Who, wasn’t it? And this is the first chance we’ve had to do something real — or was that all just a game or something?”

“No — of course it wasn’t —” said Harry impatiently.

“Then we should come too,” said Neville simply. “We want to help.”

“That’s right,” said Luna, smiling happily.  

Harry and Ron exchanged doubtful glances. Emile could tell that out of all the members of the DA, the last ones they wanted to accompany them on this mission were standing there in that forest clearing.

“I’m the oldest person here, and I say you’re stuck with us,” Emile crossed her arms.

“Well we can’t exactly stop you,” Hermione grinned at Emile.

“Well, it doesn’t matter anyway,” said Harry frustratedly, “because we still don’t know how to get there —”

“I thought we’d settled that?” said Luna maddeningly. “We’re flying!”

“Look,” said Ron, barely containing his anger, “you might be able to fly without a broomstick but the rest of us can’t sprout wings whenever we —”

“There are other ways of flying than with broomsticks,” said Luna serenely.

“I s’pose we’re going to ride on the back of the Kacky Snorgle or whatever it is?” Ron demanded.

“The Crumple-Horned Snorkack can’t fly,” said Luna in a dignified voice, “but they can, and Hagrid says they’re very good at finding places their riders are looking for.”

Emile whirled around. Standing between two trees, their white eyes gleaming eerily, were two thestrals, watching the whispered conversation as though they understood every word.

“Yes!” Harry whispered, moving toward them. They tossed their reptilian heads, throwing back long black manes, and Harry stretched out his hand eagerly and patted the nearest one’s shining neck.

“Is it those mad horse things?” said Ron uncertainly, staring at a point slightly to the left of the thestral Harry was patting. “Those ones you can’t see unless you’ve watched someone snuff it?”

“Yeah,” said Harry.

“How many?”

“Just two.”

“Well, we need three,” said Hermione, who was still looking a little shaken, but determined just the same.

“Four, Hermione,” said Ginny, scowling.

“I think there are seven of us, actually,” said Luna calmly, counting.

“Don’t be stupid, we can’t all go!” said Harry angrily. “Look, you four” — he pointed at Neville, Ginny, Emile, and Luna — “you’re not involved in this, you’re not —”

“I am the only wizard here that is of age!” Emile yelled over the complaints coming from the other three people.

“Okay, fine, it’s your choice,” he said curtly. “But unless we can find more thestrals you’re not going to be able —”

“Oh, more of them will come,” said Ginny confidently, who like Ron was squinting in quite the wrong direction, apparently under the impression that she was looking at the horses.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because in case you hadn’t noticed, you and Hermione are both covered in blood,” she said coolly, “and we know Hagrid lures thestrals with raw meat, so that’s probably why these two turned up in the first place. . . .”

Harry felt a soft tug on his robes at that moment and looked down to see the closest thestral licking his sleeve, which was damp with Grawp’s blood.

“Okay, then,” he said. “Ron and I will take these two and go ahead, and Hermione can stay here with you three and she’ll attract more thestrals —”

“I’m not staying behind!” said Hermione furiously.

“There’s no need,” said Luna, smiling. “Look, here come more now. . . . You two must really smell. . . .”

Squinted into the darkness, pushing her glasses up her nose. No fewer than six or seven thestrals were picking their way through the trees now, their great leathery wings folded tight to their bodies, their eyes gleaming through the darkness. Harry had no excuse now. . . .

“All right,” he said angrily, “pick one and get on, then.”

Emile walked over to the furthest thestral, winding her hand in the creature’s mane before hopping on as if mounting a horse.

She found there was a way of lodging her knees behind the wing joints that made her feel more secure and looked around at the others. Neville had heaved himself over the back of the next thestral and was now attempting to swing one short leg over the creature’s back. Luna was already in place, sitting sidesaddle and adjusting her robes as though she did this every day. Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, however, were still standing motionless on the spot, open mouthed and staring.

“What?” Harry said.

“How’re we supposed to get on?” said Ron faintly. “When we can’t see the things?”

“Oh it’s easy,” said Luna, sliding obligingly from her thestral and marching over to him, Hermione, and Ginny. “Come here. . . .”

She pulled them over to the other thestrals standing around and one by one managed to help them onto the backs of their mounts. All three looked extremely nervous as she wound their hands into the horses’ manes and told them to grip tightly before getting back onto her own steed.

“This is mad,” Ron said faintly, moving his free hand gingerly up and down his horse’s neck. “Mad . . . if I could just see it —”

“You’d better hope it stays invisible,” said Harry darkly. “We all ready, then?”

They all nodded.

He looked down at the back of his thestral’s glossy black head and swallowed. “Ministry of Magic, visitors’ entrance, London, then,” he said uncertainly. “Er . . . if you know . . . where to go . . .”

For a moment his thestral did nothing at all. Then, with a sweeping movement that nearly unseated him, the wings on either side extended, the horse crouched slowly and then rocketed upward so fast and so steeply that Harry looked as if he was choking the horse, that’s how tightly he was holding on.

The other thestrals soon followed, Emile found it much easier to ride them then most of the others. For one she could see the creatures, but she also had experience riding horses bareback. Her hand were wound in the creature’s mane and her knees were clutching its side as she leaned forward, relishing the wind that blew her hair back as they raced through the sky.

**_What are you doing?! You’re going to get everyone into serious trouble. As the oldest person in the group you ought to have them all turn around._ **

**Sirius is in trouble, we can’t just leave him!**

**_You’ve got to tell someone, to make sure an adult will join you later._ **

**How do I do that?**

**_You can send messages through you patronus._ **

**How? And to who?**

**_Professor Snape, and I’ll show you. First you need to drop back so that no one see’s you doing it._ **

“Could you drop to the back of the group?” Emile called to her thestral, who gave an eerie whinny in response and slowly made its way to the back.

**_Alright, here’s what you do…_ **

 

* * *

 

Miles away, Severus Snape had just contacted Sirius, letting him know about what his dastardly godson was up to. The mutt should have had his house elf stay indoors, none of this would have happened if he hadn’t done something so drastic and arrogant, like this. Now the glorious Chosen One was captured by the Dark Lord.

Snape sighed and grabbed his cloak off a hook on the wall, about to head to the door when a silver orb appeared in front of him, causing him to jump. The silver light swirled for a moment before forming some sort of wild cat.

“Is it working? Professor Snape?”

Snape flushed as he recognized Emile’s voice coming out of the animal.

“Oh you should have told me he can’t respond,” came a scold and he couldn’t suppress a small smile. Bartemius seemed to have found a decent purpose in his life, and Miss Emile could do something good for him as Lily had once done for him.

“Alright, so I guess I just talk. I’m with Harry, we’re on our way to the Department of Mystery to help Sirius. I know you’ll be mad, but I couldn’t let them go on their own. Hermione and Ron are here too, and Neville and Luna. Barty suggested that I call for adult supervision, since he doesn’t think I’m good enough supervision. Please hurry, I think we’re above London already.”

The giant cat flickered and vanished, leaving Snape alone in the candle lit room. He swore under his breath and rushed out of the castle, on his way to Hogsmeade.


	56. The Department of Mystery

“This is bizarre!” Emile laughed as she heard Ron yell from somewhere behind her, and she imagined how it must feel to be speeding along at this height with no visible means of support. . . . 

The thestral’s head was suddenly pointing toward the ground and she had actually slid forward a few inches along its neck. They were descending at last. . . .

Ginny shrieked as her thestral shot downward, clutching on desperately.

As the landed behind a dumpster near an old, vandalized phone box, Emile hopped off of her thestral and pat its neck.

Ron landed a short way away and toppled immediately off his thestral onto the pavement. 

“Never again,” he said, struggling to his feet. He made as though to stride away from his thestral, but, unable to see it, collided with its hindquarters and almost fell over again. “Never, ever again . . . that was the worst —” 

Hermione and Ginny touched down on either side of Harry. Both slid off their mounts a little more gracefully than Ron, though with similar expressions of relief at being back on firm ground. Neville jumped down, shaking, but Luna dismounted smoothly. 

“Where do we go from here, then?” she asked Harry in a politely interested voice, as though this was all a rather interesting day-trip. 

“Over here,” he said. He gave his thestral a quick, grateful pat, then led the way quickly to the battered telephone box and opened the door. 

“Come on!” he urged the others as they hesitated. 

Ron and Ginny marched in obediently; Hermione, Neville, Emile, and Luna squashed themselves in after them; Harry took one glance back at the thestrals, now foraging for scraps of rotten food inside the dumpster, then forced himself into the box after Luna. 

“Whoever’s nearest the receiver, dial six two four four two!” he said. 

Ron did it, his arm bent bizarrely to reach the dial. 

As it whirred back into place the cool female voice sounded inside the box, “Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.” 

“Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger,” Harry said very quickly, “Emile Gorska, Ginny Weasley, Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood . . . We’re here to save someone, unless your Ministry can do it first!” 

“Thank you,” said the cool female voice. “Visitors, please take the badges and attach them to the front of your robes.” 

Half a dozen badges slid out of the metal chute where returned coins usually appeared. Hermione scooped them up and handed them mutely to Harry over Ginny’s head.

“Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.” 

“Fine!” Harry said loudly. “Now can we move?” 

The floor of the telephone box shuddered and the pavement rose up past the glass windows of the telephone box. The scavenging thestrals were sliding out of sight, blackness closed over their heads, and with a dull grinding noise they sank down into the depths of the Ministry of Magic. A chink of soft golden light hit their feet and, widening, rose up their bodies. The abandoned Atrium outside the offices slid into view, the many fires usually in the mantelpieces extinguished.

“The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant evening,” said the woman’s voice. 

The door of the telephone box burst open; Harry toppled out of it, followed by Neville and Luna. The only sound in the Atrium was the steady rush of water from the golden fountain, where jets from the wands of the witch and wizard, the point of the centaur’s arrow, the tip of the goblin’s hat, and the house-elf’s ears continued to gush into the surrounding pool. 

“Come on,” said Harry quietly and the seven of them sprinted off down the hall, Harry in the lead, past the fountain.

They crammed into the lift, Harry jamming the number nine with his finger and causing the lift to slowly move down. 

When the lift halted, the cool female voice said, “Department of Mysteries,” and the grilles slid open again, they stepped out into the corridor where nothing was moving but the nearest torches, flickering in the rush of air from the lift. 

“Let’s go,” he whispered, and he led the way down the corridor, Luna right behind him, gazing around with her mouth slightly open. 

“Okay, listen,” said Harry, stopping again within six feet of the door. “Maybe . . . maybe a couple of people should stay here as a — as a lookout, and —” 

“And how’re we going to let you know something’s coming?” asked Ginny, her eyebrows raised. “You could be miles away.” 

“We’re coming with you, Harry,” said Neville. 

“Let’s get on with it,” said Ron firmly. 

Harry sighed, probably unwilling to argue with six people. He pushed the plain black door open, leading the group inside.

They were standing in a large, circular room. Everything in here was black including the floor and ceiling — identical, unmarked, handle-less black doors were set at intervals all around the black walls, interspersed with branches of candles whose flames burned blue, their cool, shimmering light reflected in the shining marble floor so that it looked as though there was dark water underfoot. 

“Someone shut the door,” Harry muttered. 

As Harry stared around the room, finally heading towards one of the many doors, Hermione grabbed his arm. The wall had started rotating, and the doors were all switching.  For a few seconds the blue flames around them were blurred to resemble neon lines as the wall sped around and then, quite as suddenly as it had started, the rumbling stopped and everything became stationary once again. 

“What was that about?” whispered Ron fearfully. 

“I think it was to stop us knowing which door we came in from,” said Ginny in a hushed voice. 

“How’re we going to get back out?” said Neville uncomfortably. 

“Well, that doesn’t matter now,” said Harry forcefully. “We won’t need to get out till we’ve found Sirius —” 

“Don’t go calling for him, though!” Hermione said urgently.

**_I doubt he’d be that stupid._ **

**You never know. A desperate man can do unpredictable things.**

**_If he’s a man than I’m an earwig._ **

**You’re just as irritating.**

“Where do we go, then, Harry?” Ron asked. 

“I don’t —” Harry began. He swallowed. “In the dreams I went through the door at the end of the corridor from the lifts into a dark room — that’s this one — and then I went through another door into a room that kind of . . . glitters. We should try a few doors,” he said hastily. “I’ll know the right way when I see it. C’mon.” 

He marched straight at the door now facing him, the others following close behind him. He pushed open the polished surface and they all crept into a well lit room. The place was quite empty except for a few desks and, in the very middle of the room, an enormous glass tank of deep-green water, big enough for all of them to swim in, which contained a number of pearly white objects that were drifting around lazily in the liquid. 

“What’re those things?” whispered Ron. 

“Dunno,” said Harry. 

“Are they fish?” breathed Ginny. 

“Aquavirius maggots!” said Luna excitedly. “Dad said the Ministry were breeding —”

“No,” said Hermione. She sounded odd. She moved forward to look through the side of the tank. “They’re brains.” 

“Brains?” Emile frowned and looked closer at the tanks. 

“Yes . . . I wonder what they’re doing with them?” 

“Let’s get out of here,” said Harry. “This isn’t right, we need to try another door —” 

“There are doors here too,” said Ron, pointing around the walls. 

“In my dream I went through that dark room into the second one,” Harry said. “I think we should go back and try from there.” 

So they hurried back into the dark, circular room; the ghostly shapes of the brains were now swimming before Emile’s eyes instead of the blue candle flames. 

“Wait!” said Emile sharply, as Luna made to close the door of the brain room behind them. “Flagrate!” 

She drew with her wand in midair and a fiery X appeared on the door. No sooner had the door clicked shut behind them than there was a great rumbling, and once again the wall began to revolve very fast, but now there was a great red-gold blur in amongst the faint blue, and when all became still again, the fiery cross still burned, showing the door they had already tried. 

“Good thinking,” said Harry. “Okay, let’s try this one —” 

Again he strode directly at the door facing him and pushed it open, his wand still raised, the others at his heels. 

This room was larger than the last, dimly lit and rectangular, and the center of it was sunken, forming a great stone pit some twenty feet below them. They were standing on the topmost tier of what seemed to be stone benches running all around the room and descending in steep steps like an amphitheater. There was a raised stone dais in the center of the lowered floor, and upon this dais stood a stone archway that looked so ancient, cracked, and crumbling that Emile was amazed the thing was still standing. 

Unsupported by any surrounding wall, the archway was hung with a tattered black curtain or veil which, despite the complete stillness of the cold surrounding air, was fluttering very slightly as though it had just been touched. 

“Who’s there?” said Harry, jumping down onto the bench below. There was no answering voice, but the veil continued to flutter and sway. 

“Careful!” whispered Hermione. 

Harry scrambled down the benches one by one until he reached the stone bottom of the sunken pit. His footsteps echoed loudly as he walked slowly toward the dais. The pointed archway looked much taller from where he stood now than when he had been looking down on it from above. Still the veil swayed gently, as though somebody had just passed through it. 

“Sirius?” Harry spoke again. 

“Let’s go,” called Hermione from halfway up the stone steps. “This isn’t right, Harry, come on, let’s go. . . .” 

Harry remained by the archway.

“Harry, let’s go,” Emile said, more forcefully than Hermione had.

“Okay,” he said, but he did not move. 

“What are you saying?” he said very loudly, so that the words echoed all around the surrounding stone benches. 

“Nobody’s talking, Harry!” said Hermione, now moving over to him. 

“Someone’s whispering behind there,” he said, moving out of her reach and continuing to frown at the veil. “Is that you, Ron?” 

“I’m here, mate,” said Ron, appearing around the side of the archway. 

“Can’t anyone else hear it?” Harry demanded.

“I can hear something,” Emile muttered as the other joined Harry at the arch. 

“I can hear them too,” breathed Luna, joining them around the side of the archway and gazing at the swaying veil. “There are people in there!” 

“What do you mean, ‘in there’?” demanded Hermione, jumping down from the bottom step and sounding much angrier than the occasion warranted. “There isn’t any ‘in there,’ it’s just an archway, there’s no room for anybody to be there — Harry, stop it, come away —” 

She grabbed his arm and pulled, but he resisted. 

“Harry, we are supposed to be here for Sirius!” she said in a high pitched, strained voice. 

**_Get out of there!_ **

**What is that?**

**_I don’t know, but it’s not natural._ **

“Sirius,” Harry repeated, still gazing, mesmerized, at the continuously swaying veil. “Yeah . . .” 

He took several paces back from the dais and wrenched his eyes from the veil. 

“Let’s go,” he said. 

“That’s what I’ve been trying to — well, come on, then!” said Hermione, and she led the way back around the dais. 

On the other side, Ginny and Neville were staring, apparently entranced, at the veil too. Without speaking, Hermione took hold of Ginny’s arm, Ron Neville’s, and they marched them firmly back to the lowest stone bench and clambered all the way back up to the door. 

“What d’you reckon that arch was?” Harry asked as they regained the dark circular room. 

“I don’t know, but whatever it was, it was dangerous,” Emile said firmly, again inscribing a fiery cross upon the door. 

Harry walked over to a door at random and pushed. It did not move. 

“What’s wrong?” said Hermione. 

“It’s . . . locked . . .” said Harry, throwing his weight at the door, but it did not budge. 

“This is it, then, isn’t it?” said Ron excitedly, joining Harry in the attempt to force the door open. “Bound to be!” 

“Get out of the way!” said Hermione sharply. She pointed her wand at the place where a lock would have been on an ordinary door and said, “Alohomora!” 

Nothing happened. 

“Sirius’s knife!” said Harry, and he pulled a small, sharp knife out from inside his robes and sliding it into the crack between the door and the wall. The others all watched eagerly as he ran it from top to bottom, withdrew it, and then flung his shoulder again at the door. It remained as firmly shut as ever. What was more, when Harry looked down at the knife, they saw that the blade had melted. 

“Right, we’re leaving that room,” said Hermione decisively. 

“But what if that’s the one?” said Ron, staring at it with a mixture of apprehension and longing. 

“It can’t be, Harry could get through all the doors in his dream,” said Hermione. Emile marked the door with another fiery cross as Harry replaced the now-useless handle of Sirius’s knife in his pocket. 

“You know what could be in there?” said Luna eagerly, as the wall started to spin yet again. 

“Something blibbering, no doubt,” said Hermione under her breath, and Neville gave a nervous little laugh. 

The wall slid back to a halt and Harry, looking increasingly desperate, pushed the next door open. 

“This is it!” He called as he rushed into the room.

The moment Emile entered, she was nearly blinded by the reflection of light coming off of various crystals stacked along the shelves in the room. 

“This way!” Harry called, rushing towards the center of the room, where the source of light was coming from a crystal bell jar.

“Oh look!” said Ginny, as they drew nearer, pointing at the very heart of the bell jar. 

Drifting along in the sparkling current inside was a tiny, jewel bright egg. As it rose in the jar it cracked open and a hummingbird emerged, which was carried to the very top of the jar, but as it fell on the draft, its feathers became bedraggled and damp again, and by the time it had been borne back to the bottom of the jar it had been enclosed once more in its egg. 

“Keep going!” said Harry sharply, because Ginny showed signs of wanting to stop and watch the egg’s progress back into a bird. 

“You dawdled enough by that old arch!” she said crossly, but followed him past the bell jar to the only door behind it. 

“This is it,” Harry said again. “It’s through here —” 

They all followed him, wands drawn. Aisles of shelves stood in front of them, towering up towards the ceiling. 

“You said it was row ninety-seven,” whispered Hermione. 

“Yeah,” breathed Harry. 

They looked up at the end of the closest row. Beneath the branch of blue-glowing candles protruding from it glimmered the silver figure 53. 

“We need to go right, I think,” whispered Hermione, squinting to the next row. “Yes . . . that’s fifty-four. . . .” 

“Keep your wands out,” Harry said softly. 

They crept forward, staring behind them as they went on down the long alleys of shelves, the farther ends of which were in near total darkness. Tiny, yellowing labels had been stuck beneath each glass orb on the shelf. Some of them had a weird, liquid glow; others were as dull and dark within as blown lightbulbs. They passed row eighty-four . . . eighty-five . . . alert for the slightest sound of movement.

“Ninety-seven!” whispered Hermione. 

They stood grouped around the end of the row, gazing down the alley beside it. There was nobody there. 

“He’s right down at the end,” said Harry, a bit hoarsely. “You can’t see properly from here. . . .” 

And he led them forward, between the towering rows of glass balls, some of which glowed softly as they passed. . . . 

“He should be near here,” whispered Harry. “Anywhere here . . . really close . . .” 

“Harry?” said Hermione tentatively.

“Somewhere about . . . here . . .” he said. 

They had reached the end of the row and emerged into more dim candlelight. There was nobody there at all. All was echoing, dusty silence. 

“He might be . . .” Harry whispered hoarsely, peering down the alley next door. 

“Or maybe . . .” He hurried to look down the one beyond that. 

“Harry?” said Hermione again. 

“What?” he snarled. 

“I . . . I don’t think Sirius is here.” 

Emile and Ginny exchanged nervous glances. If Voldemort had placed the images of Sirius being tortured in his head on purpose, then this was meant to be a trap.

“Harry?” Ron called. 

“What?” Harry said in a rough voice.

“Have you seen this?” said Ron. 

“What?” said Harry, but eagerly this time.

They wandered back down the aisle to where a dusty sphere was sitting on a shelf, Ron looking at it intently.

**_It’s a prophecy…_ **

“What?” Harry repeated glumly. 

“It’s — it’s got your name on,” said Ron. 

“My name?” said Harry blankly.

He stepped forward. Emile looked over his shoulder at the yellowed piece of parchment with finely written words.

T.P. T. to A. P. W. B. D.

Dark Lord 

and (?) Harry Potter 

“What is it?” Ron asked, sounding unnerved. “What’s your name doing down here?” 

He glanced along at the other labels on that stretch of shelf. 

“I’m not here,” he said, sounding perplexed. “None of the rest of us are here. . . .” 

“Harry, I don’t think you should touch it,” said Emile sharply, as he stretched out his hand. 

“Why not?” he said. “It’s something to do with me, isn’t it?” 

“Don’t, Harry,” said Neville suddenly.

“It’s got my name on,” said Harry. 

He grabbed the ball from the shelf, holding it in his hand. 

And then, from right behind them, a drawling voice said, “Very good, Potter. Now turn around, nice and slowly, and give that to me.” 


	57. The Prophecy

Black shapes were emerging out of thin air all around them, blocking their way left and right; eyes glinted through slits in hoods, a dozen lit wand tips were pointing directly at their hearts. Ginny gave a gasp of horror.

“To me, Potter,” repeated the drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy as he held out his hand, palm up. 

They were trapped and outnumbered two to one. 

“To me,” said Malfoy yet again. 

“Where’s Sirius?” Harry said. 

Several of the Death Eaters laughed.

A harsh female voice from the midst of the shadowy figures to their  left said triumphantly, “The Dark Lord always knows!” 

**_Bellatrix!_ **

Bellatrix turned and stared Emile, looking deep into her eyes. Emile immediately implemented Occlumency, just in case.

“Always,” echoed Malfoy softly. “Now, give me the prophecy, Potter.” 

“I want to know where Sirius is!” 

“I want to know where Sirius is!” mimicked Bellatrix. She and her fellow Death Eaters had closed in so that they were mere feet away from the group.

“You’ve got him,” said Harry. “He’s here. I know he is.” 

“The little baby woke up fwightened and fort what it dweamed was twoo,” said Bellatrix in a horrible, mock-baby voice.

“Don’t do anything,” Harry muttered. “Not yet —” 

Bellatrix let out a raucous scream of laughter. “You hear him? You hear him? Giving instructions to the other children as though he thinks of fighting us!” 

“Oh, you don’t know Potter as I do, Bellatrix,” said Malfoy softly. “He has a great weakness for heroics; the Dark Lord understands this about him. Now give me the prophecy, Potter.” 

“I know Sirius is here,” said Harry. “I know you’ve got him!” 

More of the Death Eaters laughed, though Bellatrix still laughed loudest of all. 

“It’s time you learned the difference between life and dreams, Potter,” said Malfoy. “Now give me the prophecy, or we start using wands.” 

“Go on, then,” said Harry, raising his own wand to chest height. 

As he did so, the six wands of Ron, Hermione, Emile, Neville, Ginny, and Luna rose on either side of him. 

But the Death Eaters did not strike. 

“Hand over the prophecy and no one need get hurt,” said Malfoy coolly. 

It was Harry’s turn to laugh. 

“Yeah, right!” he said. “I give you this — prophecy, is it? And you’ll just let us skip off home, will you?” 

The words were hardly out of his mouth when Bellatrix shrieked, “Accio Proph —” 

Harry shouted “Protego!” before she had finished her spell. 

“Oh, he knows how to play, little bitty baby Potter,” she said, her mad eyes staring through the slits in her hood. “Very well, then —” 

“I TOLD YOU, NO!” Lucius Malfoy roared at the woman. “If you smash it — !” 

The woman stepped forward, away from her fellows, and pulled off her hood. 

“You need more persuasion?” she said, her chest rising and falling rapidly. “Very well — take the smallest one,” she ordered the Death Eaters beside her. “Let him watch while we torture the little girl. I’ll do it.” 

They instinctively closed in around Ginny, who seemed a bit indignant at the idea that she needed protecting.

“You’ll have to smash this if you want to attack any of us,” Harry told Bellatrix. “I don’t think your boss will be too pleased if you come back without it, will he?” 

She did not move; she merely stared at him, the tip of her tongue moistening her thin mouth. 

“So,” said Harry, “what kind of prophecy are we talking about anyway?” 

“What kind of prophecy?” repeated Bellatrix, the grin fading from her face. “You jest, Harry Potter.” 

“Nope, not jesting,” said Harry, his eyes flicking from Death Eater to Death Eater. “How come Voldemort wants it?” 

Several of the Death Eaters let out low hisses. 

“You dare speak his name?” whispered Bellatrix. 

“Yeah,” said Harry. “Yeah, I’ve got no problem saying Vol —” 

“Shut your mouth!” Bellatrix shrieked. “You dare speak his name with your unworthy lips, you dare besmirch it with your half-blood’s tongue, you dare —” 

“Did you know he’s a half-blood too?” said Harry recklessly. 

Hermione gave a little moan. 

“Voldemort? Yeah, his mother was a witch but his dad was a Muggle — or has he been telling you lot he’s pureblood?” 

“STUPEF —” 

“NO!” 

A jet of red light had shot from the end of Bellatrix Lestrange’s wand, but Malfoy had deflected it. His spell caused hers to hit the shelf a foot to the left of Harry and several of the glass orbs there shattered. 

Two figures, pearly white as ghosts, fluid as smoke, unfurled themselves from the fragments of broken glass upon the floor and each began to speak. Their voices vied with each other, so that only fragments of what they were saying could be heard over Malfoy and Bellatrix’s shouts. 

“. . . at the Solstice will come a new . . .” said the figure of an old, bearded man. 

“DO NOT ATTACK! WE NEED THE PROPHECY!” 

“He dared — he dares —” shrieked Bellatrix incoherently. “— He stands there — filthy half-blood —” 

“WAIT UNTIL WE’VE GOT THE PROPHECY!” bawled Malfoy. 

“. . . and none will come after . . .” said the figure of a young woman. 

The two figures that had burst from the shattered spheres had melted into thin air. Nothing remained of them or their erstwhile homes but fragments of glass upon the floor. 

“You haven’t told me what’s so special about this prophecy I’m supposed to be handing over,” Harry said. 

“Do not play games with us, Potter,” said Malfoy. 

“I’m not playing games,” said Harry. 

“Dumbledore never told you that the reason you bear that scar was hidden in the bowels of the Department of Mysteries?” said Malfoy sneeringly. 

“I — what?” said Harry. “What about my scar?” 

“Can this be?” said Malfoy, sounding maliciously delighted; some of the Death Eaters were laughing again.

“Dumbledore never told you?” Malfoy repeated. “Well, this explains why you didn’t come earlier, Potter, the Dark Lord wondered why you didn’t come running when he showed you the place where it was hidden in your dreams. He thought natural curiosity would make you want to hear the exact wording. . . .” 

“Did he?” said Harry. 

“Smash shelves on go,” Ginny hissed into Emile’s ear. She glanced at the shelf two feet away from her, understanding what it meant.

“Why?” Malfoy sounded incredulously delighted. “Because the only people who are permitted to retrieve a prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, Potter, are those about whom it was made, as the Dark Lord discovered when he attempted to use others to steal it for him.” 

“And why did he want to steal a prophecy about me?” 

“About both of you, Potter, about both of you . . . Haven’t you ever wondered why the Dark Lord tried to kill you as a baby?” 

“Someone made a prophecy about Voldemort and me?” he said quietly. “And he’s made me come and get it for him? Why couldn’t he come and get it himself?” 

“Get it himself?” shrieked Bellatrix on a cackle of mad laughter. 

“The Dark Lord, walk into the Ministry of Magic, when they are so sweetly ignoring his return? The Dark Lord, reveal himself to the Aurors, when at the moment they are wasting their time on my dear cousin?” 

“So he’s got you doing his dirty work for him, has he?” said Harry. “Like he tried to get Sturgis to steal it — and Bode?” 

“Very good, Potter, very good . . .” said Malfoy slowly. “But the Dark Lord knows you are not unintell —” 

“NOW!” yelled Harry. 

“REDUCTO!” Emile bellowed along with the six voices behind her. The jinxes smashed into the nearby shelves. The towering structure swayed as a hundred glass spheres burst apart, pearly-white figures unfurled into the air and floated there, their voices echoing from who knew what long-dead past amid the torrent of crashing glass and splintered wood now raining down upon the floor — 

“RUN!” Harry yelled, and as the shelves swayed precariously and more glass spheres began to pour from above.

They were all yelling, there were cries of pain, thunderous crashes as the shelves collapsed upon themselves, weirdly echoing fragments of the Seers unleashed from their spheres —

Emile followed Luna as they sprinted down the corridor, hands over their heads. She tripped momentarily over her own feet, falling behind to where Harry, Hermione, and Neville were running. The four of them dashed out of the room, panting. 

“Colloportus!” gasped Hermione and the door sealed itself with an odd squelching noise. 

“Where — where are the others?” gasped Harry. 

“They must have gone the wrong way!” whispered Hermione, terror in her face. 

“Listen!” whispered Neville. 

Footsteps and shouts echoed from behind the door they had just sealed. They all pressed their ears against the door, listening to the ongoings of inside.

“Leave Nott, leave him, I say, the Dark Lord will not care for Nott’s injuries as much as losing that prophecy — Jugson, come back here, we need to organize! We’ll split into pairs and search, and don’t forget, be gentle with Potter until we’ve got the prophecy, you can kill the others if necessary — Bellatrix, Rodolphus, you take the left, Crabbe, Rabastan, go right — Jugson, Dolohov, the door straight ahead — Macnair and Avery, through here — Rookwood, over there — Mulciber, come with me!” Malfoy’s voice was snarling from the inside.

“What do we do?” Hermione asked Harry, trembling from head to foot. 

“Well, we don’t stand here waiting for them to find us, for a start,” said Harry. “Let’s get away from this door. . . .” 

They ran, quietly as they could, past the shimmering bell jar where the tiny egg was hatching and unhatching, toward the exit into the circular hallway at the far end of the room. They were almost there when they heard something large and heavy collide with the door Hermione had charmed shut. 

“Stand aside!” said a rough voice. “Alohomora!” 

As the door flew open, Harry, Hermione, Emile, and Neville dove under desks. They could see the bottom of the two Death Eaters’ robes drawing nearer, their feet moving rapidly. 

“They might’ve run straight through to the hall,” said the rough voice. 

“Check under the desks,” said another. 

Harry Poked his wand out from under the desk and shouted, “STUPEFY !”

A jet of red light hit the nearest Death Eater; he fell backward into a grandfather clock and knocked it over. The second Death Eater, however, had leapt aside to avoid Harry’s spell and now pointed his own wand at Emile, who had crawled out from under the desk to get a better aim. 

“Avada —” 

Harry launched himself across the floor and grabbed the Death Eater around the knees, causing him to topple and his aim to go awry. 

Hermione dashed over to Emile and helped her up.

Neville overturned his desk in his anxiety to help; pointing his wand wildly at the struggling pair he cried, “EXPELLIARMUS !” 

Both Harry’s and the Death Eater’s wands flew out of their hands and soared back toward the entrance to the Hall of Prophecy; both scrambled to their feet and charged after them, the Death Eater in front and Harry hot on his heels, Neville bringing up the rear, plainly horrorstruck at what he had done. 

“Get out of the way, Harry!” yelled Neville, clearly determined to repair the damage. 

Harry flung himself sideways as Neville took aim again and shouted, “STUPEFY !” 

The jet of red light flew right over the Death Eater’s shoulder and hit a glass-fronted cabinet on the wall full of variously shaped hourglasses. The cabinet fell to the floor and burst apart, glass flying everywhere, then sprang back up onto the wall, fully mended, then fell down again, and shattered — The Death Eater had snatched up his wand, which lay on the floor beside the glittering bell jar. Harry ducked down behind another desk as the man turned — his mask had slipped so that he could not see, he ripped it off with his free hand and shouted, “STUP —” 

“STUPEFY !” screamed Hermione as she caught up with them with Emile. 

The jet of red light hit the Death Eater in the middle of his chest; he froze, his arm still raised, his wand fell to the floor with a clatter and he collapsed backward toward the bell jar. Harry expected to hear a clunk, for the man to hit solid glass and slide off the jar onto the floor, but instead, his head sank through the surface of the bell jar as though it was nothing but a soap bubble and he came to rest, sprawled on his back on the table, with his head lying inside the jar full of glittering wind. 

“Accio Wand!” cried Emile. Harry’s wand flew from a dark corner into her hand and she threw it to him. 

“Thanks,” he said, “right, let’s get out of —” 

“Look out!” said Neville, horrified, staring at the Death Eater’s head in the bell jar. 

All four of them raised their wands again, but none of them struck. They were all gazing, open mouthed, appalled, at what was happening to the man’s head. It was shrinking very fast, growing balder and balder, the black hair and stubble retracting into his skull, his cheeks smooth, his skull round and covered with a peachlike fuzz. . . . A baby’s head now sat grotesquely on top of the thick, muscled neck of the Death Eater as he struggled to get up again. But even as they watched, their mouths open, the head began to swell to its previous proportions again, thick black hair was sprouting from the pate and chin. . . . 

“It’s time,” said Emile in an awestruck voice. “Time . . .” 

The Death Eater shook his ugly head again, trying to clear it, but before he could pull himself together again, it began to shrink back to babyhood once more. . . . There was a shout from a room nearby, then a crash and a scream. 

“RON?” Harry yelled, turning quickly from the monstrous transformation taking place before them. “GINNY? LUNA?” 

“Harry!” Hermione screamed.

The Death Eater had pulled his head out of the bell jar. His appearance was utterly bizarre, his tiny baby’s head bawling loudly while his thick arms flailed dangerously in all directions, narrowly missing Harry, who ducked. Harry raised his wand but Hermione seized his arm. 

“You can’t hurt a baby!” 

“Come on!” he said again, and leaving the ugly baby-headed Death Eater staggering behind them, they took off for the door that stood ajar at the other end of the room, leading back into the black hallway. 

They had run halfway toward it when Harry saw through the open door two more Death Eaters running across the black room toward them. Veering left he burst instead into a small, dark, cluttered office and slammed the door behind them. 

“Collo —” began Hermione, but before she could complete the spell the door had burst open again and the two Death Eaters had come hurtling inside. 

With a cry of triumph, both yelled, “IMPEDIMENTA!” 

Harry, Hermione, Emile and Neville were all knocked backward off their feet. Neville was thrown over the desk and disappeared from view, Emile crashed into the wall opposite Hermione, who smashed into a bookcase and was promptly deluged in a cascade of heavy books; the back of Harry’s head slammed into the stone wall behind him. 

“WE’VE GOT HIM!” yelled the Death Eater nearest Harry, “IN AN OFFICE OFF —” 

“Silencio!” cried Hermione, and the man’s voice was extinguished. 

He continued to mouth through the hole in his mask, but no sound came out; he was thrust aside by his fellow. 

“Petrificus Totalus!” shouted Harry, as the second Death Eater raised his wand. His arms and legs snapped together and he fell forward, facedown onto the rug at Harry’s feet, stiff as a board and unable to move at all. 

“Well done, Ha —” 

But the Death Eater Hermione had just struck dumb made a sudden slashing movement with his wand from which flew a streak of what looked like purple flame. It passed right across Hermione’s chest; she gave a tiny “oh!” as though of surprise and then crumpled onto the floor where she lay motionless. 

“HERMIONE!” 

Harry fell to his knees beside her as Neville crawled rapidly toward her from under the desk, his wand held up in front of him. The Death Eater kicked out hard at Neville’s head as he emerged — his foot broke Neville’s wand in two and connected with his face — Neville gave a howl of pain and recoiled, clutching his mouth and nose. 

**_Dolohov!_ **

The Death Eater turned to Emile, staring deep into her eyes.

Dolohov grinned, pinning Harry to the wall.

“Emile bo somethving,” Neville blubbered.

**I can’t move, Bartemius what did you do?**

**_I don’t know, I don’t know! I know it’s me but I can’t stop it!_ **

“Like you won’t kill us all the moment I hand it over anyway!” said Harry, staring at Dolohov and clutching the prophecy to his chest.

“Whaddever you do, Harry,” said Neville fiercely from under the desk, lowering his hands to show a clearly broken nose and blood pouring down his mouth and chin, “don’d gib it to him!” 

Then there was a crash outside the door, and Dolohov looked over his shoulder — the baby-headed Death Eater had appeared in the doorway, his head bawling, his great fists still flailing uncontrollably at everything around him. 

Harry seized his chance: “PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!” 

As soon as Dolohov was on the floor Emile felt herself unfreeze.

“Neville, you alright?” she said as she ran over to her half brother.

“Why didn’t you bdo anythving?” he asked as he stared at her.

“He cast a freezing charm, it was silent I couldn’t do anything,” Emile said as she helped him over to Harry.

“Whaddid he do to her?” said Neville kneeling at Hermione’s other side, blood streaming from his rapidly swelling nose. 

Emile groped for Hermione’s wrist.

“There’s a pulse, I’m sure there is,” she said to Harry.

“She’s alive?” 

“Yeah, I think so. . . .” 

“Listen guys, we’re not far from the exit,” Harry whispered. “We’re right next to that circular room. . . . If we can just get you across it and find the right door before any more Death Eaters come, I’ll bet you can get Hermione up the corridor and into the lift. . . . Then you could find someone. . . . Raise the alarm . . .” 

“And whad are you going do do?” said Neville, mopping his bleeding nose with his sleeve and frowning at Harry. 

“I’ve got to find the others,” said Harry. 

“Well, I’b going do find dem wid you,” said Neville firmly. 

“We aren’t leaving you, Harry,” Emile insisted.

“But Hermione —” 

“We’ll dake her wid us,” said Neville firmly. “I’ll carry her — you two’r bedder at fighding dem dan I ab —” 

He stood up and seized one of Hermione’s arms, glared at Harry, who hesitated, then grabbed the other and helped hoist Hermione’s limp form over Neville’s shoulders. 

“Wait,” said Harry, snatching up Hermione’s wand from the floor and shoving it into Neville’s hand, “you’d better take this. . . .” 

Neville kicked aside the broken fragments of his own wand as they walked slowly toward the door. 

“My gran’s going do kill be,” said Neville thickly, blood spattering from his nose as he spoke, “dat was by dad’s old wand. . . .” 

Harry stuck his head out of the door and looked around cautiously. The baby-headed Death Eater was screaming and banging into things, that much Emile could hear. 

“He’s never going to notice us,” he whispered. “C’mon . . . keep close behind me. . . .” 

They crept out of the office and back toward the door into the black hallway, which now seemed completely deserted. They walked a few steps forward, Neville tottering slightly due to Hermione’s weight. The door of the Time Room swung shut behind them, and the walls began to rotate once more. With a jolt in her stomach Emile realized her crosses had faded from the doors.

“So which way d’you reck — ?” 

But before they could make a decision as to which way to try, a door to their right sprang open and three people fell out of it. 

“Ron!” croaked Harry, dashing toward them. “Ginny — are you all — ?” 

“Harry,” said Ron, giggling weakly, lurching forward, seizing the front of Harry’s robes and gazing at him with unfocused eyes. “There you are. . . . Ha ha ha . . . You look funny, Harry. . . . You’re all messed up. . . .” 

Ron’s face was very white and something dark was trickling from the corner of his mouth. Next moment his knees had given way, but he still clutched the front of Harry’s robes, so that Harry was pulled into a kind of bow. 

“Ginny?” Harry said fearfully. “What happened?” 

But Ginny shook her head and slid down the wall into a sitting position, panting and holding her ankle. 

“I think her ankle’s broken, I heard something crack,” whispered Luna, who was bending over her and who alone seemed to be unhurt. “Four of them chased us into a dark room full of planets, it was a very odd place, some of the time we were just floating in the dark —” 

“Harry, we saw Uranus up close!” said Ron, still giggling feebly. “Get it, Harry? We saw Uranus — ha ha ha —”

A bubble of blood grew at the corner of Ron’s mouth and burst.

“Anyway, one of them grabbed Ginny’s foot, I used the Reductor Curse and blew up Pluto in his face, but . . .” Luna gestured hopelessly at Ginny, who was breathing in a very shallow way, her eyes still closed. 

“And what about Ron?” said Harry fearfully, as Ron continued to giggle, still hanging off the front of Harry’s robes. 

“I don’t know what they hit him with,” said Luna sadly, “but he’s gone a bit funny, I could hardly get him along at all. . . .” 

“Harry,” said Ron, pulling Harry’s ear down to his mouth and still giggling weakly, “you know who this girl is, Harry? She’s Loony . . . Loony Lovegood . . . ha ha ha . . .” 

“We’ve got to get out of here,” said Harry firmly. “Luna, can you help Ginny?” 

“Yes,” said Luna, sticking her wand behind her ear for safekeeping, putting an arm around Ginny’s waist and pulling her up. 

“It’s only my ankle, I can do it myself!” said Ginny impatiently, but next moment she had collapsed sideways and grabbed Luna for support. Harry pulled Ron’s arm over his shoulder. Emile was the only one left without an injured person to support, so she brought up the rear.

They were within a few feet of another door when a door across the hall burst open and three Death Eaters sped into the hall, led by Bellatrix Lestrange. 

“There they are!” she shrieked. 

Stunning Spells shot across the room: 

Harry smashed his way through the door ahead, flung Ron unceremoniously from him, and ducked back to help Neville in with Hermione. They were all over the threshold just in time to slam the door against Bellatrix. 

“Colloportus!” shouted Harry, and he heard three bodies slam into the door on the other side. 

“It doesn’t matter!” said a man’s voice. “There are other ways in — WE’VE GOT THEM, THEY’RE HERE!” 

They were back in the Brain Room and, sure enough, there were doors all around the walls. He could hear footsteps in the hall behind them as more Death Eaters came running to join the first. 

“Luna — Emile — help me!” 

The three of them tore around the room, sealing the doors as they went: Harry crashed into a table and rolled over the top of it in his haste to reach the next door. 

“Colloportus!” 

There were footsteps running along behind the doors; every now and then another heavy body would launch itself against one, so it creaked and shuddered. Luna and Emile were bewitching the doors along the opposite wall — then, as Emile reached the very top of the room, she heard Luna cry, “Collo — aaaaaaaaargh . . .”

She turned in time to see Luna flying through the air. Five Death Eaters were surging into the room through the door she had not reached in time; Luna hit a desk, slid over its surface and onto the floor on the other side where she lay sprawled, as still as Hermione. 

“Get Potter!” shrieked Bellatrix, and she ran at him. He dodged her and sprinted back up the room; he was safe as long as they thought they might hit the prophecy — 

“Hey!” said Ron, who had staggered to his feet and was now tottering drunkenly toward Harry, giggling. “Hey, Harry, there are brains in here, ha ha ha, isn’t that weird, Harry?” 

“Ron, get out of the way, get down —” 

But Ron had already pointed his wand at the tank. “Honest, Harry, they’re brains — look — Accio Brain!” 

The scene seemed momentarily frozen. Harry, Emile, Ginny, and Neville and each of the Death Eaters turned in spite of themselves to watch the top of the tank as a brain burst from the green liquid like a leaping fish. For a moment it seemed suspended in midair, then it soared toward Ron, spinning as it came, and what looked like ribbons of moving images flew from it, unraveling like rolls of film — 

“Ha ha ha, Harry, look at it —” said Ron, watching it disgorge its gaudy innards. “Harry, come and touch it, bet it’s weird —” 

“RON, NO!”

The moment they made contact with his skin, the tentacles began wrapping themselves around Ron’s arms like ropes. 

“Harry, look what’s happen — no — no, I don’t like it — no, stop — stop —” 

But the thin ribbons were spinning around Ron’s chest now. He tugged and tore at them as the brain was pulled tight against him like an octopus’s body. 

“Diffindo!” yelled Harry, trying to sever the feelers wrapping themselves tightly around Ron before his eyes, but they would not break. Ron fell over, still thrashing against his bonds. 

“Harry, it’ll suffocate him!” screamed Ginny, immobilized by her broken ankle on the floor — then a jet of red light flew from one of the Death Eater’s wands and hit her squarely in the face. She keeled over sideways and lay there unconscious. 

“STUBEFY !” shouted Neville, wheeling around and waving Hermione’s wand at the oncoming Death Eaters. “STUBEFY, STUBEFY !” 

But nothing happened — one of the Death Eaters shot their own Stunning Spell at Neville; it missed him by inches. Harry, Emile, and Neville were now the only two left fighting the five Death Eaters, two of whom sent streams of silver light like arrows past them that left craters in the wall behind them. Harry ran for it as Bellatrix Lestrange sprinted right at him.

“STUPEFY!” Emile yelled, pointing the wand straight at Bellatrix, but the spell never fired.

**BARTEMIUS.**

**_I don’t know how to stop it!_ **

“Bombarda!” One of the Death Eaters pointed at the ground by Emile in her moment of hesitation. She was thrown against the wall and knocked unconcious for a minute, waking up a moment later to find the room Death Eater free and one of the doors ajar..

**I need to go after Neville.**

**_But the wounded need yo-_ **

**I know! I know.**

Screams from the other room filled the one Emile was in and she dashed over to the door, slipping into the shadows by the door frame to see Bellatrix pointing her wand at a writhing Neville.

“That was just a taster!” said Bellatrix, raising her wand so that Neville’s screams stopped and he lay sobbing at her feet. She turned and gazed up at Harry. “Now, Potter, either give us the prophecy, or watch your little friend die the hard way!” 

Malfoy jumped forward to take The prophecy. Then, high above them, two more doors burst open and five more people sprinted into the room: Sirius, Lupin, Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley. Malfoy turned and raised his wand, but Tonks had already sent a Stunning Spell right at him.

Choking sounds behind Emile drew her attention. She turned to see Ron wrestling with the brain, his face blue as it choked him.

“Reducto!” she yelled and ran back towards the white-pink mass. It flew across the room and hit the opposite wall, getting up a moment later.

“PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!” she roared over the cried from the other room, freezing the brain in midair. Emile swore to herself as she levitated it back into its green tank, where it remained still.

Emile rushed back into the other room, leaving a delirious Ron to catch his breath, in time to see Sirius and Bellatrix duel. 

She saw Sirius duck Bellatrix’s jet of red light: He was laughing at her. “Come on, you can do better than that!” he yelled, his voice echoing around the cavernous room. 

The second jet of light hit him squarely on the chest. 

The laughter had not quite died from his face, but his eyes widened in shock. 

He tumbled backwards, falling through the veiled archway, where he did not reappear again.

Harry ran forward, dropping Neville and calling Sirius’s name. Emile grabbed her brother and helped him up, dragging him away from the worst of the fighting.

“Wotcher, Emile,” Tonks yelled as she passed by, dueling with Bellatrix. At that moment she was struck by a spell and fell over.

“No!” Emile yelled, dropping Neville, who to her disappointment slid down to where Harry and Lupin were standing by the veil.

Turning to where Bellatrix was fighting with Kinsley she pulled out her wand. “Stupefy!” she yelled, hopping down the steps. 

“Get back, girl!” Kingsley bellowed in a low voice as Emile joined him. At that moment Bellatrix turned and ran, followed by Harry. 

“Return to the others!” Dumbledore bellowed at her and Kingsley as he followed Harry.

“Come, we need to take you back to the school,” Kingsley rumbled. 

“But what about-”

“Dumbledore will take care of Harry,” Remus said as he came over to her. “Help Neville up.”

“Emile,” Neville blubbered as she helped him up.

“I’ve got you, Neville,” Emile sighed and they headed out of the Department of Mystery.


	58. Tell Me When Will I Graduate

HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED RETURNS

In a brief statement Friday night, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge confirmed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be Named has returned to this country and is active once more. “It is with great regret that I must confirm that the wizard styling himself Lord — well, you know who I mean — is alive and among us again,” said Fudge, looking tired and flustered as he addressed reporters. “It is with almost equal regret that we report the mass revolt of the dementors of Azkaban, who have shown themselves averse to continuing in the Ministry’s employ. We believe that the dementors are currently taking direction from Lord — Thingy. “We urge the magical population to remain vigilant. The Ministry is currently publishing guides to elementary home and personal defense that will be delivered free to all Wizarding homes within the coming month.” The Minister’s statement was met with dismay and alarm from the Wizarding community, which as recently as last Wednesday was receiving Ministry assurances that there was “no truth whatsoever in these persistent rumors that You-Know-Who is operating amongst us once more.” Details of the events that led to the Ministry turnaround are still hazy, though it is believed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and a select band of followers (known as Death Eaters) gained entry to the Ministry of Magic itself on Thursday evening. Albus Dumbledore, newly reinstated headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, reinstated member of the International Confederation of Wizards, and reinstated Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, was unavailable for comment last night. He has insisted for a year that You-Know-Who was not dead, as was widely hoped and believed, but recruiting followers once more for a fresh attempt to seize power. Meanwhile the Boy Who Lived — 

“There you are, Harry, I knew they’d drag you into it somehow,” said Hermione, looking over the top of the paper at him. 

Everyone was sitting in the hospital wing, listening to Hermione read the paper out loud. Ginny, whose ankle had been mended in a trice by Madam Pomfrey, was curled up at the foot of Hermione’s bed; Neville, whose nose had likewise been returned to its normal size and shape, was in a chair between the two beds; Emile, who had had a piece of shrapnel buried deep into her leg and didn’t realize, was sitting in the windowsill, staring across the grounds; and Luna, who had dropped in to visit clutching the latest edition of The Quibbler, was reading the magazine upside down and apparently not taking in a word Hermione was saying. 

“He’s ‘the Boy Who Lived’ again now, though, isn’t he?” said Ron darkly. “Not such a show-off maniac anymore, eh?” 

He helped himself to a handful of Chocolate Frogs from the immense pile on his bedside cabinet, threw a few to Harry, Ginny, Emile, and Neville, and ripped off the wrapper of his own with his teeth. There were still deep welts on his forearms where the brain’s tentacles had wrapped around him. According to Madam Pomfrey, thoughts could leave deeper scarring than almost anything else, though since she had started applying copious amounts of Dr. Ubbly’s Oblivious Unction, there seemed to be some improvement. 

“Yes, they’re very complimentary about you now, Harry,” said Hermione, now scanning down the article. 

“ ‘A lone voice of truth . . . perceived as unbalanced, yet never wavered in his story . . . forced to bear ridicule and slander . . .’ Hmmm,” said Hermione, frowning, “I notice they don’t mention the fact that it was them doing all the ridiculing and slandering, though. . . .”

She winced slightly and put a hand to her ribs. The curse Dolohov had used on her, though less effective than it would have been had he been able to say the incantation aloud, had nevertheless caused, in Madam Pomfrey’s words, “quite enough damage to be going on with.” Hermione was having to take ten different types of potion every day and although she was improving greatly, was already bored with the hospital wing. 

“ ‘You-Know-Who’s Last Attempt to Take Over, pages two to four, What the Ministry Should Have Told Us, page five, Why Nobody Listened to Albus Dumbledore, pages six to eight, Exclusive Interview with Harry Potter, page nine . . .’ Well,” said Hermione, folding up the newspaper and throwing it aside, “it’s certainly given them lots to write about. And that interview with Harry isn’t exclusive, it’s the one that was in The Quibbler months ago. . . .” 

“Daddy sold it to them,” said Luna vaguely, turning a page of The Quibbler. “He got a very good price for it too, so we’re going to go on an expedition to Sweden this summer and see if we can catch a Crumple-Horned Snorkack.” 

Hermione seemed to struggle with herself for a moment, then said, “That sounds lovely.”

“So anyway,” said Hermione, sitting up a little straighter and wincing again, “what’s going on in school?” 

“Well, Flitwick’s got rid of Fred and George’s swamp,” said Ginny. “He did it in about three seconds. But he left a tiny patch under the window and he’s roped it off —” 

“Why?” said Hermione, looking startled. 

“Oh, he just says it was a really good bit of magic,” said Ginny, shrugging. 

“I think he left it as a monument to Fred and George,” said Ron through a mouthful of chocolate. 

“They sent me all these, you know,” he told Harry, pointing at the small mountain of Frogs beside him. “Must be doing all right out of that joke shop, eh?” 

Hermione looked rather disapproving and asked, “So has all the trouble stopped now Dumbledore’s back?” 

“Yes,” said Neville, “everything’s settled right back down again.” 

“I s’pose Filch is happy, is he?” asked Ron, propping a Chocolate Frog card featuring Dumbledore against his water jug. 

“Not at all,” said Ginny. “He’s really, really miserable, actually. . . .” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “He keeps saying Umbridge was the best thing that ever happened to Hogwarts. . . .” 

Emile glanced backwards at Umbridge, who was lying in a bed further across the room, staring at the ceiling. Dumbledore had strode alone into the forest to rescue her from the centaurs. How he had done it — how he had emerged from the trees supporting Professor Umbridge without so much as a scratch on him — nobody knew, and Umbridge was certainly not telling. Since she had returned to the castle she had not, as far as any of them knew, uttered a single word. Nobody really knew what was wrong with her either. Her usually neat mousy hair was very untidy and there were bits of twig and leaf in it, but otherwise she seemed to be quite unscathed. 

“Madam Pomfrey says she’s just in shock,” whispered Hermione. 

“Sulking, more like,” said Ginny. 

“Yeah, she shows signs of life if you do this,” said Ron, and with his tongue he made soft clip-clopping noises. Umbridge sat bolt upright, looking wildly around. 

“Anything wrong, Professor?” called Madam Pomfrey, poking her head around her office door. 

“No . . . no . . .” said Umbridge, sinking back into her pillows, “no, I must have been dreaming. . . .” 

Hermione and Ginny muffled their laughter in the bedclothes. 

“Speaking of centaurs,” said Hermione, when she had recovered a little, “who’s Divination teacher now? Is Firenze staying?” 

“He’s got to,” said Harry, “the other centaurs won’t take him back, will they?” 

“It looks like he and Trelawney are both going to teach,” said Ginny. 

“Bet Dumbledore wishes he could’ve got rid of Trelawney for good,” said Ron, now munching on his fourteenth Frog. “Mind you, the whole subjects useless if you ask me, Firenze isn’t a lot better. . . .” 

“How can you say that?” Hermione demanded. “After we’ve just found out that there are real prophecies?” 

“It is a pity it broke,” said Hermione quietly, shaking her head. 

“Yeah, it is,” said Ron. “Still, at least You-Know-Who never found out what was in it either — where are you going?” he added, looking both surprised and disappointed as Harry stood up. 

“Er — Hagrid’s,” said Harry. “You know, he just got back and I promised I’d go down and see him and tell him how you two are. . . .” 

“Oh all right then,” said Ron grumpily, looking out of the dormitory window at the patch of bright blue sky beyond. “Wish we could come . . .” 

“Say hello to him for us!” called Hermione, as Harry proceeded down the ward. “And ask him what’s happening about . . . about his little friend!”

Harry gave a wave of his hand to show he had heard and understood as he left.

“Hey Ron, don’t suppose Fred and George sent me anything, did they?” Emile asked hesitantly when the Boy Who Lived had left.

“No, sorry Emile,” Ron mumbled and tossed her a few more chocolate frogs. “Here, take these. Who needs a letter?”

“Emile? Could I talk to you outside?” Neville said nervously.

“Sure, Neville,” Emile felt a pit open in her stomach. She knew what was coming. Bartemius had warned her that Bellatrix was a skilled Legimence.

“Emile,” Neville stared awkwardly outside of the hospital wing. “This is really awkward.”

“Yes,” Emile blurted out.

“Oh,” Neville stared at her, “So that’s how you knew about my-our mother.”

“I’m sorry Neville,” Emile sighed and sunk to the floor, her back against the wall.

“It’s not your fault, I saw who that letter Gran sent a few years ago was addressed to,” Neville shrugged.

Emile looked at him. “Your Gran was the one who sent that letter?”

“You remember the specific letter?”

“The one warning me to keep my mouth shut?” Emile said with a small smile. “Yeah, I remember it well.”

“Yeah I thought it would be something like that,” Neville said with a wry smile. “She seemed very stressed whenever I mentioned your name.”

Emile gave a small laugh and they sat there in silence for a few minutes, thinking.

“Where’s your father?” Neville asked after a moment.

Emile felt a lump form in her throat. “Dead.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Emile gave him a small smile before standing up. “I need to go see someone. I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

Neville nodded but remained sitting on the floor as Emile walked down the hall, sliding down the stair bannisters to the dungeons.

“Professor Snape?” She called as she knocked on the door.

“Miss Gorska, I was wondering when you would show,” Snape’s voice sounded in response. 

Emile pushed open the door and sat down in her usual chair, heaving a large sigh.

“A sigh so deep for someone so young,” Snape said without looking up.

“I need your advice,” Emile stared at the professor. “When I was in the Department of Mystery, Bartemius did something that left paralyzed. I couldn’t moved. He SAYS he doesn’t know how it happened.”

**_I didn’t! I’m so sorry, Emile. You’ve got to believe me._ **

**Why would I do that?**

“This is most unusual,” Snape said, frowning at Emile. “As in, I have never heard of this happening.”

“Great, thanks for your help,” Emile sighed and stood up, preparing to leave the room.

“I’m not finished, Miss Gorska.”

Emile sat back down.

Snape sighed and leaned across the table. “Miss Gorska, I trust that you understand by now that if the Death Eaters were to discover a shard of Bartemius in you, you would become an immediate target. Maybe not as important as Mister Potter, but very important nonetheless. It is in your best interest to stay as far away from the Death Eaters as possible.”

“No offense, Professor, but with a war coming I doubt that will be that simple.”

“I think that soon, we will all find ourselves in difficult positions,” Snape said slowly.

Emile wasn’t sure what to say, so they sat there in silence for a few minutes. 

“Where will I go now?” She said quietly after a while. “Sirius is dead, I can’t look after Grimmauld place on my own.”

“The Headmaster is making arrangements for you,” was the only response she got.

Hermione and Ron weren’t released from the hospital wing till three days before end of term. Harry seemed happy enough to see them, but he wasn’t showing much emotion anymore.

Emile told Lee and Nathan about Neville, and though they did think she was joking at the beginning, in the end they didn’t think too differently of her.

“It’s not that big a secret, you could have told us,” Nathan said with a grin.

“I had my doubts,” Emile shrugged.

Soon there was the bittersweet moment of taking down the loft beds for the final time. Angelina actually shed a tear when Emile showed her the picture they had taken in their third year, when they had first put up the loft beds. The rooms were soon packed, and the trunks were set in the hall.

Poor Carrot’s final act was to eat a carrot one last time. She died peacefully, in her sleep. Emile held a funeral for her on the grounds, where they buried the little mouse on top of the hill overlooking the lake, underneath a root of the tree growing there. Lee, Nathan, Angelina, and Alicia all showed up, the girls bearing tiny bouquets of flowers. Emile shed several tears.

The seventh years had a grand ceremony by the lake, where their teacher presented them with their N.E.W.T. letters and shook their hands before they headed down to the lake, where they took the boats used to carry first years across on their first day back to the shore. Professor McGonagall had slipped Emile an envelope as she shook her hand, a small smile on her face.

“I can’t believe we’re leaving,” Lee said quietly as they marvelled in the schools glory one more time.

“Here, let’s get a photo,” Emile smiled as she got a Hufflepuff in a nearby boat to take a wizard's photo of her, Nathan, Angelina, and Lee in the boat, Hogwarts behind them. They marvelled at the photo; it depicted Lee almost falling into the water and the four of them smiling.

“I’ll always remember school like this,” Emile said with a smile.

“Don’t get all teary on us, Em,” Lee laughed as the boats drew closer to shore.

In the train Emile finally mustered up the courage to look at her N.E.W.T. results.

Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Test Results

Pass Grades Fail Grades

O (Outstanding) P (Poor)

E (Exceeds Expectations) D (Dreadful)

A (Acceptable) T (Troll)

Emile Victoria Gorska has achieved:

Defense Against the Dark Arts: E

Charms: E

Astronomy: O

History of Magic: A

Potions: O

“I didn’t fail Astronomy!” Lee was yelling next to her. He grabbed Emile by the hand and pulled her up, twirling her around the compartment. “I didn’t fail Astronomy! I got an A!”

“Congratulations!” Emile cheered as Angelina and Nathan laughed. “Let me sit down so that I can open the envelope from McGonagall.”

There were three pieces of parchment in the envelope, as well as a small vial filled with molten gold liquid, dangling on the end of a chain necklace.

“Is that..?” Lee stared at the vial as Emile grinned and hung the necklace around her neck, tucking the vial under her shirt.

She read the first piece of parchment to herself.

Dear Emile,

The following pieces of parchment are letters of recommendation from Professor McGonagall and I. We hope you find them useful in pursuing the career path you desire.

The potion you made for your N.E.W.T. practical exam was exemplary, I have given you a small vial to use when you need. Do not use it on something stupid, save it for when you really need it.

I know you plan on joining the Order, feel free to contact me with any questions or problems about your little friend.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape

Emile grinned and looked over the letters of recommendation, blushing slightly at Professor McGonagall’s kind words. 

They spent the rest of the train ride discussing their plans for the future. Nathan was going to become a Healer in training. Angelina had ambitions to become an auror, but first she was taking a year off to travel. Lee was going to see if Fred and George needed help in the shop, but he was also planning to take a year off for travel. His parents desperately wanted him to get a job in the ministry, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted to.

“We’re pulling into the station,” Angelina said quietly as the familiar walls of King’s Cross Station appeared outside the window.

“You’ll stay in touch, won’t you?” Alicia said with a look around the compartment.

“We should meet up sometime in July, see how everyone’s doing,” Emile suggested with a grin.

“Brilliant,” Lee said as he leaned back. “I’ll let you coordinate that, then.”

“Lazy,” Nathan laughed as the train slowed to a stop.

When Emile got off the train she dragged her trunk through the portal, surprised to find a large group waiting there. There was Mad-Eye Moody, looking quite as sinister with his bowler hat pulled low over his magical eye as he would have done without it, his gnarled hands clutching a long staff, his body wrapped in a voluminous traveling cloak. Tonks stood just behind him, her bright bubble-gum-pink hair gleaming in the sunlight filtering through the dirty glass station ceiling, wearing heavily patched jeans and a bright purple T-shirt bearing the legend the weird sisters. Next to Tonks was Lupin, his face pale, his hair graying, a long and threadbare overcoat covering a shabby jumper and trousers. At the front of the group stood Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, dressed in their Muggle best, and Fred and George, who were both wearing brand-new jackets in some lurid green, scaly material. 

“Em!” the twins yelled, running forward.

Emile wrapped her arms around the two of them. “I missed you guys! You wouldn’t believe what’s been going on at Hogwarts.”

“You can tell us all about it in the apartment,” George grinned as he took a step back.

“What?” Emile stared at them, jaw dropped.

“You’re rooming with us now!” Fred grinned. “Didn’t Dumbledore tell you?”

“No!” Emile laughed and hugged them both again. “This is fantastic!”

“You get your own room and everything, so don’t worry about George trying to sleep in the same bed as you,” Fred said with a wink. 

“Ron, Ginny!” called Mrs. Weasley, hurrying forward and hugging her children tightly, drawing their attention back to the group. “Oh, and Harry dear — how are you?” 

“Fine,” said Harry, as she pulled him into a tight embrace. 

Ron ogled at the twins’ new clothes. 

“What are they supposed to be?” he asked, pointing at the jackets. 

“Finest dragon skin, little bro,” said Fred, giving his zip a little tweak. “Business is booming and we thought we’d treat ourselves.” 

“Hello, Harry,” said Lupin, as Mrs. Weasley let go of Harry and turned to greet Hermione. 

“Hi,” said Harry. “I didn’t expect . . . what are you all doing here?” 

“Well,” said Lupin with a slight smile, “we thought we might have a little chat with your aunt and uncle before letting them take you home.” 

“I dunno if that’s a good idea,” said Harry at once. 

“Oh, I think it is,” growled Moody, who had limped a little closer. “That’ll be them, will it, Potter?” He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder; his magical eye was evidently peering through the back of his head and his bowler hat. A trio of sour looking people were standing in the corner, the two males looking a bit on the large side.

“Ah, Harry!” said Mr. Weasley, turning from Hermione’s parents, whom he had been greeting enthusiastically, and who were taking it in turns to hug Hermione. “Well — shall we do it, then?” 

“Yeah, I reckon so, Arthur,” said Moody. He and Mr. Weasley took the lead across the station toward the place where the Dursleys stood, apparently rooted to the floor. 

Hermione disengaged herself gently from her mother to join the group. 

“Good afternoon,” said Mr. Weasley pleasantly to the large man, coming to a halt right in front of him. “You might remember me, my name’s Arthur Weasley.” 

“We thought we’d just have a few words with you about Harry,” said Mr. Weasley, still smiling. 

“Yeah,” growled Moody. “About how he’s treated when he’s at your place.”

“I am not aware that it is any of your business what goes on in my house —” 

“I expect what you’re not aware of would fill several books, Dursley,” growled Moody. 

“Anyway, that’s not the point,” interjected Tonks, whose pink hair seemed to offend the thin lady more than all the rest put together, for she closed her eyes rather than look at her. “The point is, if we find out you’ve been horrible to Harry —” 

“— and make no mistake, we’ll hear about it,” added Lupin pleasantly. 

“Yes,” said Mr. Weasley, “even if you won’t let Harry use the fellytone —” 

“Telephone,” whispered Hermione. 

“Yeah, if we get any hint that Potter’s been mistreated in any way, you’ll have us to answer to,” said Moody. 

“Are you threatening me, sir?” he said, so loudly that passersby actually turned to stare. 

“Yes, I am,” said Mad-Eye, who seemed rather pleased that the man had grasped this fact so quickly. 

“And do I look like the kind of man who can be intimidated?” barked the man. 

“Well . . .” said Moody, pushing back his bowler hat to reveal his sinisterly revolving magical eye. The man leapt backward in horror and collided painfully with a luggage trolley. “Yes, I’d have to say you do, Dursley.”

He turned from Mister Dursley to Harry. “So, Potter . . . give us a shout if you need us. If we don’t hear from you for three days in a row, we’ll send someone along. . . .” 

“ ’Bye, then, Potter,” said Moody, grasping Harry’s shoulder for a moment with a gnarled hand. 

“Take care, Harry,” said Lupin quietly. “Keep in touch.” 

“Harry, we’ll have you away from there as soon as we can,” Mrs. Weasley whispered, hugging him again. 

“We’ll see you soon, mate,” said Ron anxiously, shaking Harry’s hand. 

“Really soon, Harry,” said Hermione earnestly. “We promise.” 

Harry nodded before leading his extended family out onto the sunlit street.

George turned and grinned at Emile. “Hold onto my arm Em, we’re going to your new home.”


	59. Wandlore

“Em! Don’t keep Mister Ollivander waiting!” a bellow woke Emile up in her bedroom. 

It had been a few days since she had arrived at the twins flat in Diagon Alley. It was a quaint little space directly above their shop, with a lot more rooms then one would think. On the first and second floors was Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, obviously, and the third and fourth were living spaces. Most of the third was what the twins referred to as their workshop, but a few rooms were used for storage space. It was also where they had set up a fancy dining room for “special events and business deals.”

On the fourth floor there were three bedrooms, two bathrooms, a kitchen/dining room and sitting room. One of the bedrooms had its own personal bathroom, which was the bedroom Emile had. It was also the largest of the three. She had tried to turn it down but the twins had insisted that she take it as her own. She had bought herself a nice four poster bed that sat in the corner, the curtain rods on the top were designed to resemble branches with leaves. All of her things had been brought over from Grimmauld place by Tonks and Remus, who visited quite often. 

There was no official headquarters for the Order at the moment. Dumbledore was concerned about some security breaches on the building, and the Order had had to evacuate it. Information was passed from person to person, though most of the information the three of them received was either from Tonks or Mrs. Weasley, who they visited often for dinner.

“Emile!” George’s yell sounded right outside the door. “It’s almost eight, and you need to be there at nine!”

“It doesn’t take me that long to get ready!” She yelled back, charming the door shut to ensure security.

She showered quickly, putting on jeans, high tops, and a black and white striped t-shirt.

“Good morning, father,” she said quietly to a small ficus tree growing by her window in a large, decorative pot. 

Mr. Diggory had brought it over as a housewarming gift. Her father didn’t want to take up any space on the slowly deteriorating earth, so he stated in his will that he wished to become a tree. Emile got to take care of him daily, watering the tree. Fred said that she was going down a dangerous path, and that soon she’d become one of those tree huggers.

“What’s for breakfast?” She chirped as she hopped into the sunlit kitchen.

“Fred’s got a platter of eggs and I’m on bacon,” George called from the stove.

“I’ll get toast and juice,” Emile smiled, pulling a carton of pumpkin juice out of the enchanted muggle fridge. It didn’t run of electricity; the interior was charmed to keep the food at a certain temperature. But the design was the same as a muggle refrigerator.

They ate breakfast in the dining room, watching Diagon Alley slowly come to life. Chimney smoke slowly began to curl out of the surrounding shops as their owners prepared for opening time at nine.

**I really missed Fred and George.**

**_I know. I’m happy that you’re happy now._ **

**Why are you being so nice recently? I haven’t heard a sarcastic comment from you in weeks.**

**_I’m trying to distance myself from you. You saw what happened in the Ministry, you could have died because of me._ **

**Oh Bartemius, it’s alright. I forgive you. There’s no need to distance yourself from me.**

“How’s Barty this morning?” Fred mumbled through a mouthful of toast.

“His name is Bartemius, Fred,” Emile smiled as she sipped her pumpkin juice. “And he’s alright.”

“He’d better be alright, you don’t need any more stress on the first day of your internship,” George scolded with a glance at Emile’s forehead.

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Glaring at my forehead won’t get your point across, George.”

Once they had done the dishes Emile packed her old bookbag with everything she could possibly need. Pens, Quills, Parchment, her wand care kit, and the book she had received from Lee and Nathan for christmas. 

“For the lovely lady,” George chirped as he passed Emile a packed lunch. “I’m afraid it’s not as good as mom makes them.”

“You’re related to Mrs. Weasley,” Emile grinned by the stairs. “I think I can trust you.”

“Good luck!” Fred yelled after her as she descended the staircase to the first floor, walking out the front door of the store.

A few people were wandering around, window shopping. The return of You-Know-Who had sparked a lot of tension between people; instead of socializing happily they wandered around in tight groups of two or three. Some of the stores had began to close down, and the usual peddlers selling spices, potions supplies, and other trinkets were replaced with a few sketchy people selling enchanted amulets and talismans that supposedly protected you from Death Eaters.

The bell to the wand shop jingled merrily as Emile walked in, closing the door behind her. The slightly dusty windows filtered in pale yellow light from the rising sun, illuminating the stacks of boxes lining the shelves.

**_This place would do with a good dusting._ **

**And a window wash.**

“Mr. Ollivander?” Emile called out hesitantly. The shop seemed empty.

Maybe he went out to pick something up from the green grocers?

“In the back!” came a weak cry throughout the store.

Emile went behind the counter, walking down the aisle towering with wands in their respective boxes. Mister Ollivander was wearing a peculiar pair of spectacles as he carved intricate designs into a new wand. 

“Can you identify this wand for me?” he said without turning around.

“Um,” Emile took a step closer, squinting at the wand in his hands. “Well it’s a light wood, my guess would be birch? About eight and a half inches long...”

“And the core?”

Emile felt her face growing warm. “I’m not sure.”

Mister Ollivander gave a grunt before taking off the spectacle and turning to Emile, his large, watery grey eyes blinking slowly.

“You ought to be able to tell what kind of core it has simply by looking at the wand, would holding it help?”

“Maybe?” Emile said hesitantly, not completely sure if she would be able to identify the core. 

He handed her the wand, Emile felt an unfamiliar buzz at it touched her hand.

“Well, I don’t recognize the feeling, and the wand seems a bit thick,” Emile mulled it over as she rolled the wand around in her hand. “Dragon heartstring?”

“Correct,” Mister Ollivander gave a small smile. “You have a bit more knowledge than I expected.”

“Oh, thank you,” Emile gave a small smile.

“So I want you to forget everything you think you know,” Mr Ollivander smiled and leaned back in his chair.

“Al-alright,” Emile said a bit awkwardly. This wasn’t what she had expected for her first day on the job. 

“I have a very important job for you to do,” Mr. Ollivander stood up and made his way to the counter, taking the unfinished wand from Emile as he did so. 

“I need you to do a bit of cleaning,” Mr Ollivander pulled out a bucket of cleaning supplies and a mop, handing them to Emile.

“Is this because I’m a girl and girls are supposed to be better at cleaning and cooking?” Emile frowned as she took the items from the wandmaker. 

“Not at all,” Mr Ollivander said pleasantly. “It’s simply because the best way to get to know your surroundings is by cleaning them.”

So Emile spent the next four hours washing the windows, mopping the floor, dusting off the shelves, and polishing the doorknobs. The wands on display in the window were removed from their cushions as Emile washed them. She organized the countertop, leaving a stack of letters off to the side for Mr. Ollivander to deal with. By the time lunch break rolled around the store looked good as new.

“Brilliant,” Mr. Ollivander said with a smile as he came into the room, a brand new wand in his hand. “Could you grab me a spare box from the closet over there, this one is ready for the floor.”

“How many wands have you made?” Emile asked in awe as she looked around the store.

“Oh, I don’t really know,” Mr. Ollivander laughed. “A few of the wands here were made by my father, he enjoyed experimenting with cores. I have doubts that some of his wands will ever find a true wizard.”

“There must be several hundred,” Emile said as she glanced around the box filled shelves.

“Maybe even a thousand, Mr. Ollivander gave a cheerful shrug and put the now boxed wand onto a nearby shelf. “Why don’t you go take a lunch break, meet me back here in an hour?”

A knock on the window caught their attention. George was outside with his own sack lunch, waving at Emile.

She turned back to Mr. Ollivander. “Alright then, see you in an hour.”

“How’s your first day goin?” George smiled as Emile walked out of the shop, the bell jingling merrily behind her. 

“I spent all morning cleaning,” Emile said with a laugh as they sat down in front of an abandoned shop. 

“Is that good or bad?” George asked hesitantly as Emile pulled out the sandwich he had made her.

“Pretty good,” Emile shrugged and took a bite. “Not bad.”

“The sandwich or your day?”

“Both.”

George laughed and took a bite of his own sandwich. They sat in mostly silence, watching people stroll by, until they had both finished their meal.

“I fancy an ice cream, what do you say?” George said with a grin. 

Emile checked her pocket watch. “Sure, I’ve got forty five minutes to fill.”

They went down to Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor and got chocolate and raspberry ice cream cones before walking around Diagon Alley some more. There was a few more people around now, wandering the shops in their tight groups of two or three. One solitary figure was wandering around, her bubblegum pink hair catching everyone’s attention.

“Tonks!” Emile ran forward, leaving George behind and throwing her arms around the Auror. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh I was just coming to see how your first day in the real world is going,” Tonks said with a grin. “And possibly to ask you if you’ve seen Remus recently.”

“He stopped by last night,” Emile said as George caught up to them. “Did you need him for something?”

“What? No, I, no. It’s fine,” Tonks smiled at Emile. “So, how is your first day going?”

“Alright I guess,” Emile shrugged. “I’ve been cleaning.”

“First days don’t usually have a lot of action,” Tonks shrugged as they walked in the direction of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. “Hey, can I talk to you two in your apartment?”

“You’ve got ten minutes before I have to go back,” Emile smiled and the three of the disapparated into the apartment, sitting down by the dinner table.

“Pumpkin juice, Tonks?” George called from the kitchen.

“No, thank you.”

“Grab me a butterbeer!” Emile called out, and George reappeared with two bottles in his hand.

“So what’s the news?” He asked Tonks. 

She sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Dumbledore wants you three to keep track of any disappearances in Diagon Alley.”

“So our job is to sit here and socialize?” George said without much enthusiasm.

“Pretty much,” Tonks shrugged.

“We can at least investigate the disappearances, right?” Emile stared at Tonks.

**Is it just me, or is her hair not as pink anymore?**

**_No, you’re right. Her hair is no longer blindingly pink._ **

**Are those brown roots?**

**_Yes. Haven’t you noticed before? They look a lot like your roots._ **

**My blonde roots are growing in?!**

**_When was the last time you looked in a mirror?_ **

**But, my hair was charmed!**

**_Charms wear off._ **

**Damn it.**

“Dumbledore didn’t say you couldn’t investigate,” Tonks said a bit hesitantly, “but he does strongly advise you to stay in Diagon Alley, as does your mother.”

“Of course she does,” George grumbled.

“Blimey, I need to go,” Emile said as she jumped up, chugging the last of her butterbeer before giving Tonks one last hug. “I’ll see you Saturday? At The Burrow?”

“We’ll see,” Tonks smiled as Emile disapparated from the apartment.

“You’re one minute late,” Mr Ollivander said without looking up from where he was looking through the stack of papers.

“I’m sorry, an old friend showed up,” Emile said quickly, tucking her mokeskin pouch into her bookbag.

“How is Nymphadora?”

Emile stared at Mr. Ollivander, who looked up after a minute. “Is there something wrong?”

“How did you know we saw Tonks?”

“She came in here looking for you,” Ollivander smiled before turning back to the paper. “Now, I have a few things I want you to do.”

Emile jumped up onto the countertop and looked over at Mr. Ollivander expectantly. 

“First off, do not sit on the counter.”

Emile frowned and slid off.

“Second, you will go get a stack of books from my workshop, which I expect you to read by next Mmonday.”

Emile took out her pocket notebook and pen and began to write the instructions down.

“Third, you will acquire a hunting pet, a cat or an owl would be best. Fourth, you will get a journal and organize these shelves. Number each wand box and make note of its wand wood and core.”

Emile paused and looked up. “Didn’t you say there were a thousand wands in here?”

“I said there MIGHT be a thousand,” Ollivander said with a smile. 

“That’s still a lot,” Emile said grimly, looking down at the notes in front of her. “Anything else?”

“Every morning you will clean the shop. Once you finish you will work on organizing the wands. You will have a one hour lunch break at noon and a half an hour break between three and five. Shop closes and nine, and here,” Mr. Ollivander took a chain out of his pocket, “is your key.”

“Oh, I get my own key?” Emile smiled slightly and took the chain from the older man, a bronze key hanging on the end. She hung it around her neck, tucking it under her shirt next to the vial of Felix Felicis.

“Of course. And there is one more thing,” Mr. Ollivander paused and looked at Emile, his voice dropping to an urgent whisper. “If you ever come into the shop and find that the curtains are black, get out. Get out and send for Dumbledore as soon as you get to a safe location.”

“Why would anything bad happen to you?” Emile whispered back. “You’re a wand maker, not an auror.”

Mr. Ollivander gave her a small smile. “In times of war, everyone around you is a threat. Now go get those books, you have a lot of reading to do.”


	60. The Madness of Mr Ollivander

Emile spent the next week reading  _ Wandlore: The Art of Crafting the Ultimate Magical Tool _ ,  _ The Practitioners Guide to Wand Magic (Volume One) _ ,  _ The Witch’s Guide to Wands _ , and _ The Wizard’s Guide to Wands _ . She had read the first book at Hogwarts several times, so merrily skimmed it over. What she found most interesting was that even wands had some gender specific qualities. For example, only three men in recorded history had ever possessed a rosewood wand.

She had gotten used to her morning chores, by the end of the week it took her no more than an hour to mop the floor, wash the windows, and dust the room. 

The wand organizing, on the other hand, could be going a bit better. Emile had gotten the hang of identifying the different wands very quickly, though she did mix up the woods on occasions. She had several boxes out, and she organized the wands by wood. Her plan was that once they had been organized by wood she would stack them on the shelves by core, each row of shelves would contain a few different woods. 

Each time a customer came in, ranging from excited first years of various schools to older people who may have broken or lost their wands, Mr. Ollivander made a mess of Emile’s carefully organized boxes, and she had to spend the rest of the day reorganizing them. Even after she was certain everything was back where it belonged, an ash wand would mysteriously end up in a box of blue spruce wands.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was doing it on purpose,” Emile said in an exasperated tone.

“I doubt it, Em,” Fred mumbled around a mouthful of roast chicken.

“I don’t,” Bill grinned across the table. “He’s definitely doing it on purpose to test your patience.”

**_I like that guy, Bill. He understands people._ **

It was Saturday evening, Emile and the twins were at The Burrow for a get together dinner. Though a large amount of people from the Order had been invited, Bill and Tonks had been the only ones to show up.

“If I were you I’d hurry up with the organizing and put a permanent sticking charm on every box you place on a shelf,” Tonks grinned from across the table, earning a laugh from Ginny, Fred, and Ron.

Emile smiled and took another bite of her baked potato, trying not to look at Tonk’s hair. The fading pink hue was streaked with clearly visible brown streaks. Emile’s own hair was now a brilliant shade of light blue, and drew a lot of attention from passing older witches who highly disapproved of what was now considered, “muggle fashion”. Colored hair and muggle clothes was just what Emile felt comfortable in. 

Mrs. Weasley, however, disapproved of Emile’s hair almost as much as she did of Bill’s.

“It makes you quite memorable, I wouldn’t forget her in a hurry,” Mr. Weasley had laughed as his wife covered her mouth in shock.

**_I think it’s brilliant._ **

**Thank you, Bartemius.**

**_So, have you had any nightmares recently?_ **

**No, surprisingly enough. I’ve actually been sleeping quite well. Just last night I had a dream that I was riding Nepeta across the Diggory manor.**

**_Good, good. That’s great, how is Nepeta?_ **

**Oh I saw her before dinner. Ginny’s taking great care of her.**

“I’ve got to get back to my flat,” Bill said as he stood up from the table.

“Leaving so soon?” Tonks grinned and winked at him. “Good luck.”

“Does he have another date?” Emile whispered to George.

“He’s probably gonna get a bit more than just a date,” George grunted back, causing Emile to choke on her sip of butterbeer.

“Have you gotten a pet yet?” Ginny asked from across the table, where she was flipping through Emile’s notebook.

“Give that back you pickpocket,” Emile laughed and grabbed it from her. “And no, but I was thinking a cat. Cat’s seem good and finding bowtruckles.”

“You also just want a cat,” Fred laughed.

“That’s besides the point,” Emile smiled. 

“If you’re hunting for something in tree’s then an owl would be better,” Ginny said thoughtfully as Pigwidgeon let out a shrill hoot in the corner. 

“I know,” Emile sighed. “I’ll probably end up with an owl.”

“Well gosh, don’t sound so excited,” Ron said with an eye roll. “I don’t blame you, owl’s are right pains.”

Emile exchanged a look with Ginny, smiling. They were all familiar with Ron’s complaining. If he complained about Pig as much as he had complained about Scabbers then that meant he was quite fond of the small owl.

After dinner Emile stayed in the sitting room with Tonks, talking about nothing in particular until the boys had left the room.

Emile turned to Tonks and took her hand. “Are you alright? You seem a bit down.”

“Me?” Tonks gave a nervous laugh as she looked around the room. “I’m fine, really.”

“Nymphadora Tonks you are not fine and you are not leaving this room until you spill the beans,” Emile sat down on Tonks lap, squashing her face with her back.

“Alright! You’ve made your point!” Tonks yelped, struggling under Emile. “You’re tiny though, this doesn’t hurt as much as it could.”

“Don’t be rude,” Emile scoffed and sat down next to the auror, “Now, tell me.”

“Oh, it’s stupid really,” Tonks let out a sigh. “I’ve just been arguing with Remus.”

“Oh,” Emile stared at Tonks. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

**Do you know what they could have been arguing about?**

**_Maybe Tonks wants to get married?_ **

**Wait, they like each other?**

**_You seriously haven’t noticed?_ **

“I doubt you even know what we’re arguing about,” Tonks laughed. “If you really want to know ask me, not Barty.”

**_Bartemius._ **

“I’m almost scared to ask,” Emile smiled. 

“Then I’ll tell you anyways,” Tonks smile faded. “I really, really like Remus. That sounds a bit wrong, really really like. How old am I?” She gave a small laugh. “But he doesn’t want to get married. He says he’s too old and that the werewolf thing gets in the way. I don’t care about what happens once a month, heck we can both be beasts once a month.”

Emile choked on her butterbeer for the second time that evening, her loud coughing mixed with laughing bringing the twins and Mrs. Weasley into the room.

“Are you alright, dear?” Mrs. Weasley asked hesitantly, looking from a choking Emile to a laughing Tonks.

“Fine, fine,” Emile choked out, wiping tears from her eyes.

“Come on, Em. We’d better head back,” George came over and took Emile by the arm.

“Alright,” Emile leaned over and gave Tonks a hug. “It’ll be alright.”

“You’re just out of school, what would you know?” She teased back.

Emile smiled but didn’t respond. She couldn’t help but noticed that Tonks hair was a bit more pink than it had been when they had arrived.

The next day Emile went to the Magical Menagerie in search for a cat. There were plenty of cats that caught her attention, but none that the salesman thought would be useful in locating bowtruckles in trees.

“You need an owl for that,” he grunted as Emile asked about a cat for the fifth time. 

She couldn’t choose between a brilliantly white Turkish Angora and a gorgeous Silver Tabby. Both were skilled hunters, she played with them with one of the cat toys and they never hesitated to leap for the end of the trailing string.

**What do you think?**

**_I think you’re in denial. They’re adorable, but you need an owl._ **

**I don’t really want an owl.**

**_With a war coming, you’re better off with an owl._ **

**Why do you always have to be right?**

**_I’m usually not, but when I’m with you I just am._ **

**Which isn’t saying much since you’re stuck with me.**

**_That’s besides the point._ **

“Get him down from there!” an angry snap from behind Emile caught her attention. 

The salesman was holding a broom in his hand and was swiping at an owl in the rafters. The poor creature hooted feebly and shrunk away from the broom, climbing further up into the roof.

“Blasted bird,” he mumbled with a glare at the ceiling.

“Maybe he’d come down if you were a bit nicer,” Emile frowned and crossed her arms.

“I’ve had it with that bird,” the salesman grumbled. “No one wants him because he has difficulty flying. Bloke lost his back talon on each foot, makes it difficult to hunt and perch.”

Emile looked up at the owl perched in the rafters. It was leaning against the wall, hidden in the shadows, but the light reflected back it’s yellow eyes. 

“Does it ever come down from there?” Emile asked curiously as she watched the owl. 

“Rarely, only during feeding time,” the salesman stared at Emile. “You know, when I said you need an owl, I meant any owl but this one.”

“I’ll take him,” Emile said determinedly.

“You’ve got to get him down first,” the salesman gestured towards a ladder on the far wall. “Knock yourself out.”

**_What are you doing?_ **

**Picking up a ladder. Now I’m leaning it against a wall.**

**_Emile, why on earth would you get this owl?_ **

**He’s an outcast, look at him. If I don’t get him then who will?**

**_Out of all the owl in Diagon Alley you choose the cripple._ **

**Out of all the people at the World Cup you chose me.**

**_Yes, but how could I have known you had seasonal depression and a knack for being illogical about most things?_ **

Emile could almost heard Bartemius grumbling as she climbed up the shaky wooden ladder and onto one of the rafters in the store. 

“Hi,” she said nervously to the owl, who stared at her. “Blimey, this is high. I bet you can fly higher though.”

The owl tipped its head to the side and leaned forward a bit.

**See? I bet no one's talked to it nicely.**

**_I wouldn’t._ **

**Yeah but you aren’t nice to anyone.**

**_That’s besides the point._ **

“I’m Emile,” she continued, looking at the owl. “I’m looking for a companion who can help me find bowtruckles in trees. I’m studying wandlore, and need help in locating wand wood.”

The owl blinked and flew a bit closer to Emile, nearly toppling off the rafter as it landed.

“Woah there,” Emile put her hand behind the owl while it caught it’s balance. The owl blinked again and gave a small hoot.

“Well I never,” the salesman crossed his arms on the floor. “I guess he’s all yours, will you be needing a cage for him?”

“Yes I think so,” Emile turned to the owl, “what do you think?”

The owl scooted closer to Emile and peered down at the salesman, letting out a screech.

“That’s a feisty Boreal, that is,” one of the customers, an older man, said with a look at the owl. “What’s his name?”

“Achilles,” Emile grinned, and the owl climbed onto her forearm. “After the god with weak heels.”

**_That’s a bit rude._ **

**I think it works very well.**

Fred and George thought the owl was great, though Fred mainly saw Achilles as a way to send letters. 

“It isn’t safe to use owl post anymore,” Emile said with an eye roll. “And Achilles is more than a message deliverer, he’s my work partner.”

“You don’t have a twin so you make do with an owl,” George laughed.

“Every day I spend with you guys reminds me why I don’t want a twin,” Emile teased back. 

Mr. Ollivander seemed pleased with the owl when Emile walked in on Monday with a Achilles perched on her shoulder. 

“Ah, yes. A fine specimen of _Aegolius funereus._ You’ve chosen a fine owl _.”_

“I feel like he might have chosen me before I even realized he was there,” Emile said with a smile as the owl gave a small hoot.

“Now, I have a very important assignment for you this week,” Mr. Ollivander began as they headed towards the back room. “Here are several books on the geography of Europe.”

“Will I be travelling?” Emile inquired with a look at Mr. Ollivander.

“Yes,” he replied and headed back out into the hall. 

Emile couldn’t help but notice that her carefully organized wands were just as she had left them.

“Have you been keeping the wands organized?” she said with a smirk.

“Yes, I have. The labels really help,” Mr. Ollivander paused by the counter and looked at her. “You’ve been here a week and I must say it’s doing me good. The place has never looked cleaner.”

“Thank you,” Emile smiled as  Achilles hopped onto the counter and waddled over to the register, where he perched on the dials and fell asleep.

“You’ve read all about wands, so now it’s time to take what you’ve learned and get used to doing it.”

Emile let out a gasp. “Am I making wands already? Oh that’s so exciting, will I be using the supplies in your storage room?”

“My supplies?” Mr. Ollivander laughed. “Oh Emile, heavens no. You must go find your own.”

**_Oh snap. You’re going on an adventure._ **

“You should plan to leave next Monday. This week I want you to spend preparing your items as well as making a map of where you will go. I will need one copy with me, and one with you.”

“Will you be following me?” Emile asked as she scribbled down her to-do list.

“No,” Mr. Ollivander gave her a funny look. “But if you don’t return I’d like to know where to check first.”

“Oh, Mr. Ollivander,” Emile smiled, “I doubt I’d be very useful to the Death Eaters.”

“Perhaps not, but Bartemius could be,” Mr. Ollivander looked her in the eyes, staring so intently Emile was sure those watery grey eyes could see right through her. “Oh yes, Dumbledore told me all about the little voice inside your head, Miss Emile. I’m surprised you get along so well, most cases like this ended with the Horcrux possessing the body.”

“I don’t think Bartemius would ever do that to me,” Emile said quietly, looking down. 

“Be wary of whom you trust,” Mr. Ollivander turned back to the stack of papers on the counter. “I expect you to bring back three different woods and five different cores.”

“That seems like a lot,” Emile frowned.

“You’d be surprised.”

So Emile spent her second week of apprenticeship with Mr. Ollivander reading about where she could find the wood and cores she was looking for. Once she had located the most likely places she circled them on a map and handed it in to Mr. Ollivander. He had merely nodded, hardly glancing at it as he untangled a knot of unicorn hair.

Achilles was getting more and more used to perching without his vital back talons. At night he went flying around the alley, and during the day he was often snoozing on the cash register or on the intricate metal branches that wound around Emile’s four poster bed. He had difficulty hunting on his own, so Emile and George often fed him table scraps.

“Can owls eat cooked meat?” George said as he tossed Achilles a chicken wing.

“We’ll soon find out,” Emile said nervously as Achilles hooted his thanks and began tearing the meat off with his beak. Nothing out of the ordinary happened, he coughed up his usual pellet, so they decided it couldn’t be too harmful.

Friday evening Emile was hopping over to the Burrow for dinner. Mr. Weasley had said she could borrow one of their camping tents for her expedition across England.

‘Are you sure it’s wise to head across Europe during such troubling times?” She fretted to Emile and Tonks, who had stopped by for a spot of tea.

“I’ll be fine, Mrs. Weasley,” Emile smiled.

“Still, I don’t know what Ollivander was thinking, sending you out alone with Death Eaters on the loose,” Tonks frowned and took a sip of tea.

“Oh! Speaking of the Death Eater, Arthur’s got a promotion,” Mrs. Weasley beamed proudly as Emile and Tonks congratulated her warmly. “Yes, Arthur’s heading the Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects.”

“Oh that’s an important job, especially with all these ridiculous charms and amulets they’re selling in Diagon Alley these days,” Emile said with an eye roll.

“Oh wait Emile, you haven’t heard the more exciting news,” Tonks eyes glittered mischievously. “Tell her, Molly.”

Mrs. Weasley sniffed. “I would hardly call it exciting, but-”

“I ‘ave returned, Mrs. Molly!” A thick french accent sounded behind them.

Emile turned to find the gorgeous figure of Fleur Delacour standing in the entrance to the kitchen.

“Hello, Fleur,” Emile said with a smile. “How are you?”

“I am doing alright, Emile,” she smiled. “I was not able to make ze funeral, but I want to let you know that I am sorry about Cedric.”

“Thank you,” Emile mumbled, noticing Tonks rolling her eyes next to her. “But, no offense Fleur, what are you doing here?”

“But do you not know?” Fleur looked at Mrs. Weasley a bit reproachfully. “Bill and I are going to be married!”

Emile tried not to look at Tonks. “Wow, that’s wonderful!”

Fleur continued talking as if Emile hadn’t said anything. “Bill is very busy at ze moment, working very ’ard, and I only work part-time at Gringotts for my English, so he brought me ’ere for a few days to get to know ’is family properly.”

Emile took a long sip of her tea and looked at Tonks and Mrs. Weasley. Poor Mrs. Weasley was growing very red in the face; she looked as if she desperately wanted to say something but couldn’t bring herself to say it. 

“Well, it’s been fun but I’m afraid I need to leave,” Emile stood up and received grateful glance from Mrs. Weasley. “Tell Harry I say hi when you see him tomorrow.”

“Yes, it’s very good of Dumbledore to bring him here before he spends too long with those muggles,” Mrs. Weasley responded. “The tent is in the stable, above the saddle soap and polish.”

“Alright, I’ll get it,” Emile said, saying a quick goodbye to Tonks and an even faster one to Fleur before leaving the house. She got the tent and apparated back to the small flat in Diagon Alley.

“Emile! How’s the family?” Fred called out from where he was lounging on the sofa in his pajamas with his brother.

“You’re father got a promotion and your brother’s getting married,” Emile said as she plopped down onto the sofa. “I’m worried about Tonks, she was there too.”

“Older or younger,” Fred asked.

“What?”

“Which brother is getting married?”

“Bill of course. What, did you think Ron would propose to Fleur first?”

George laughed before turning to face her. “So what’s up with Tonks?”

“Well, her hair is completely brown now,” Emile frowned. “She mentioned earlier that she’s having difficulty metamorphosing.”

“Must be some emotional breakdown she’s going through,” Fred said with a smirk.

Emile glared at him and left the room, intent on going to bed. 

**_That was very rude._ **

**He speaks at last.**

**_I’m trying not to bug you as much._ **

**That’s oddly nice of you.**

**_I do agree with Mrs. Weasley though, be careful out there. I don’t want you to die._ **

**Seriously, Bartemius. Stop being nice. It’s scaring me.**

With a sigh Emile let a anxious Achilles out into the night, watching him fly off before going to shower. When she left her bathroom, wet hair tied up in a bun, she found George sitting on her bed with a pile of books.

“Are those from my shelves?” She asked indignantly as he looked up from the book he had open.

“Yes.”

“George,” Emile moaned and flopped down onto her bed next to him.

“Emileeee,” He moaned back in a teasing way.

“I had those organized, you butt!” Emile frowned and grabbed her wand off of her nightstand, re shelving the books in their rightful spots with a flick.

“I need something new to read,” George complained and punched her in the arm.

“I gave you a new book yesterday,” Emile said in an exasperated voice. 

“Well, I finished it.”

Emile smiled at the redhead before scanning the bookshelves, flicking her wand to summon a book back to her. “Here, A Game of Thrones. Lot’s of violence and death, but it’s pretty good.”

“This looks pretty new,” George said as he opened the book up to the first page.

“It’s so new I haven’t gotten a chance to read it yet,” Emile smiled. “But you can go ahead and read it, I won’t get much of a chance to read it this next week.”

George’s smile faltered. “Right, you’re going on an adventure.”

Emile nudged him in the side. “I’ll be fine.”

“But-”

“Don’t lecture me please, I heard enough from your mother and Tonks. And Mad Eye. And Lupin.”

George gave her a weak smile and a side hug before heading off to his own room for the night. 

The next day, Saturday, there was a surprise visitor in the wand shop.

“Neville!” Emile grinned, hopping over the counter and hugging her half brother. “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” he smiled up at her. “Nose is much better.”

“Ah, Miss Emile,” a shrewd looking woman in a green dress and a moth eaten hat adorned with a stuffed vulture walked in behind Neville. “It’s nice to see you in person again. Last I saw you, you were only a babe.”

“Oh, you must be Mrs. Longbottom,” Emile shook the older woman’s hand, unsure of how to respond to that comment. “Are you two here for a new wand?”

“We are indeed,” Mrs. Longbottom said somewhat stiffly. 

“I’ll fetch Mr. Ollivander,” Emile said quickly, running down the aisle to the workshop.

“What do you need me for? Help them yourself,” The older man said as Emile entered the room. “You know the customer better than I do, it’s only fitting that your first sale would be your half brother.”

Uncertain of how her mentor came by all of his information, Emile headed back to the front desk.

“Let’s see here,” Emile studied Neville, attempting to channel some of Mr. Ollivanders confidence in his wands as she watched the magical tape measure measure her brother from all angles. “I’ve got a few ideas.”

Emile ran along the aisles of shelves, grabbing several boxes off of them as she went.

“Here, ten inch, oak, dragon heartstring,” Emile shoved the wand into Neville’s hands. “Well, try it out.”

Neville waved the wand, and it immediately let out a bang like a gun and let out a spark that crashed into one of the selves, sending spruce wand with phoenix feather cores scattering across the floor.”

“Definitely not!” She yelled and took the wand away from him, using her own to repair the damage. “How about, nine inch, blue spruce, unicorn hair?”

Neville gave a nervous flick and the wand let out a poof of smoke that surrounded his grandmother, who cleared it with a disapproving look and a wave of her wand.

“Better, better, so definitely unicorn hair,” Emile mumbled as she took that wand back. 

Neville laughed. “From what Ron and Harry have told me about their experiences with Mr. Ollivander, you seem to channel his energy pretty well.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Emile laughed and grabbed another wand off of the shelves. “Here you go, thirteen inch, cherry, unicorn hair.”

Neville’s wand glowed as he held it in his hand, and he looked up at a smiling Emile. 

“The wand chooses the wizard,” She said with a smile.

“Well done, Emile,” Mr. Ollivander croaked from behind her. “I’ll ring it up, you get back to planning your trip.”

“What trip?” Neville said curiously as his grandmother followed Ollivander to the end of the counter. 

“Oh, I’m going wand wood and wand core hunting,” Emile smiled.

“On your own?” 

“No,” Emile laughed and let out a whistle, “I’ll have Achilles with me.” 

As she said this the owl swooped down from the rafters and landed on her shoulder, nibbling her ear affectionately.  

“Oh, you got an owl,” Neville leaned over the counter.

“This is Achilles,” Emile grinned as the owl bobbed his head. “Achilles, this is Neville.”

Achilles hooted at the incoming sixth year, who smiled at the owl.

“Neville, we’re leaving,” his Grandmother called out. “Pleasure to see you again, Miss Gorska.”

“Likewise,” Emile said with a wink at Neville. “See you around.”

Neville waved as he left the shop, running along to catch up with his grandmother.

“Well, you made your first sale. And it only took you three tries to choose the correct wand,” Mr. Ollivander seemed impressed. “Well done.”

Emile spent the rest of the day preparing for her trip. She had packed the tent into her mokeskin pouch, along with a purple sleeping bag, several pillows, her money bag, and a few days worth of food. She had exchanged some of her galleons for muggle money, which was inside her wallet that was also inside her money bag. Her broomstick and rainjacket were also in there, as well as a sack of spare clothes.

“I think I’ve got most of what I need,” Emile said as she glanced through the items in her sack. “I’m stopping by Hagrid’s on the way there for fairy eggs and woodlice for the Bowtruckles.”

“Have you got any tools to get the wand wood with?” Mr. Ollivander said as he looked over her list. “Have you got items to store the wand cores in?”

Emile nodded. “Those are still in the apartment, I could go get them to show you.”

“You do that, I’m going to close down the shop,” Mr. Ollivander said as he folded the list back up and handed it back to her.

“Achilles, heel,” Emile grinned as the owl flew down from the rafter, landing on her outstretched arm. 

**_Unbelievable._ **

She nodded to Mr. Ollivander and turned, disapparating to her apartment room. As the room came into focus Achilles flew over to the bed and perched on the branch shaped curtain rods, closing his eyes and dozing off as the light from the setting sun illuminated her bed. Fred and George were busy closing up shop downstairs, so she grabbed the bag of supplies and disapparated again. 

She suddenly found herself unable to apparate into the wand shop. Frustrated, she walked around the front of the shop, jostling the locked door handle around.

**_Emile._ **

**Not now.**

Emile attempted to peer in through the window, but Mr. Ollivander had drawn the curtains. She was unable to see through the thick fabric.

**_Emile!_ **

**What?**

**_Look at the curtains._ **

**What about them?**

**_They’re black._ **

Emile covered her mouth with her hands as she looked up at the dark curtains. They were, indeed, black.

**But that would mean that…**

**_We need to get out of here, now._ **

**No! I’ve got to check on Mr. Ollivander.**

**_Emile, you can’t get in there!_ **

**But I might be able to get into the third landing.**

Emile turn on the spot, smiling as she opened her eyes to the darkened third landing that was Mr. Ollivanders spare apartment. He had told her that this is where he stayed when his home was unsafe or when he argued with his wife and claimed he had to stay to finish his work.

As quietly as she could, Emile crept down the stairs onto the second landing of the shop, peering around a bookcase down into the area below. Ollivander was behind the counter, surrounded by three death eaters. A fourth was walking along the other side of the counter.

**_Look, Dolohov doesn’t have a baby head anymore! That’s good, I guess._ **

**Shush, listen.**

“... a shorthaired ginger, possibly a Weasley. She’s a personal interest of Bellatrix and Me.”

“I’m afraid the only young, female Weasley is a fifth year named Ginny,” Mr. Ollivander said hotly. “Why not tell me why Lord Voldemort requires my services?”

“Do not speak the Dark Lord’s name!” the Death Eater on Ollivanders right hissed and jabbed his wand into Mr. Ollivanders throat.

“We do not question the Dark Lord’s orders. He asked for Garrick Ollivander, we bring him Garrick Ollivander,” Dolohov snarled, his eyes searching the shop. “What is this?”

Dolohov picked up a crumpled piece of parchment off of the floor. 

“Looks like a map.” He slowly turned to Mr. Ollivander, eyes scanning the piece of parchment Emile had marked her intended destinations on. “What are you planning, old man?”

“Those are simply preparations I was making for a trip to search for a new wand wood,” Mr. Ollivander said calmly.

“Then why,” Dolohov said with a smirk,”Does it have E.V.G. at the top?”

**_Why would you put your initials on a map?_ **

**In hindsight that wasn’t the smartest decision.**

**_Emile, they’re going to be hunting us now._ **

**You think I don’t know that?**

“We’ll send some of our friend’s to check these locations thoroughly within the next week, who knows what kind of weapons or plans you might have hidden for Dumbledore.”

Dolohov tucked Emile’s map into his pocket, glancing around the shop one more time before grabbing hold of Ollivander.

“You know where to go,” he said roughly to the three other death eater, who nodded as Dolohov disapparate with a loud crack, taking Mr. Ollivander with him.


	61. All By Myself

“Emile, calm down,” George stared fearfully at her as she ran around the apartment, stuffing things into her mokeskin pouch. 

“I’m completely calm!” Emile snapped as she grabbed a large bag of crisps. “I just, I can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” asked a bewildered Fred from where he lay on the ground. Emile had pushed him away from her upon entry to the apartment, and he hadn’t gotten up from the floor since. Apparently the floor was safer.

“Every minute I spend here could be a minute they spend tracking me down. My presence is putting you two in danger!” Emile hissed and tugged on her coat, whistling for Achilles. “I’ll be back by the end of July, I promise.”

Emile hugged Fred and George, giving George a peck on the cheek before stepping back, holding onto Achilles and her pouch.

“No, wait!”

As Emile turned on spot disapparating. She wasn’t sure where she would go, but she knew that she had to get away from the twins to protect them. When she opened her eyes she found herself standing in a large wooden structure. Achilles wiggled out of her grip with a defiant hoot, flying over to a windowsill and tapping the windows impatiently.

Emile was back in her treehouse at the Diggory’s.

**I guess I’m setting up base camp here.**

**_I guess you are. You might want to go outside and put up some protective enchantments._ **

**Good idea.**

Emile climbed down the ladder and out in front of the tall cedar that remainder remarkably unchanged. She pulled out her wand and pointed it at the treehouse, walking around in a large circle.

“Salvio Hexia . . . Protego Totalum . . . Repello Muggletum . . . Muffliato . . . Cave Imunicium…”

**_Good, that should do it._ **

**It’s shielded, unseeable unless you stand way too close to the tree, and an intruder alarm will go off if anyone comes too close.**

**_I bet you wish Fred and George were here right now._ **

**Of course I do, but it’s too dangerous for me to be near anyone right now.**

**_Don’t go acting all self righteous, remember what happened to Cedric?_ **

**Yeah, I remember what you did to him.**

Emile climbed back into the treehouse, an impatient Achilles zooming around the small space. He hooted angrily at Emile and she let him out, warning him not to go too far. The owl nipped her hand before flying off into the night. 

Emile got to work setting up her stuff. Her sleeping bag in the corner with her pillows, the tent remained inside the pouch. She stacked the food along some shelves on one wall of the treehouse and lit the lanterns since it was rowing quite dark outside. Her pocketwatch read midnight by the time Achilles returned with a mouse, pleased with his catch. Emile put him in his cage and went to bed. 

The next morning, Emile packed lunch for herself, her broom, and her wood collecting supplies before apparating off to Hogsmeade with Achilles. From there she walked up to Hogwarts, where she was going to meet Hagrid.

“Emile! Been expectin’ you,” Hagrid rumbled as she approached his wooden hut. 

“Hello Hagrid,” Emile smiled. “So you know why I’m here then?”

“When Dumbledore mentioned ye’ had an assignment to get woods and cores, I figured you’d stop by here,” Hagrid winked at her and opened the door to his hut. “Nice owl ye got there.”

“So, Hagrid,” Emile broke off and stared across the room. “Is that unicorn hair?”

“It is indeed, dead useful that stuff is. I use it to bandage injuries. Down, Fang!”

Emile leaped back as a gigantic dog leaped out from under a table and bowled her over. Achilles gave a shriek and flew up into the rafters, where he sat clucking his beak disapprovingly as his yellow eyes watched the dog below.

“I don’t suppose you could show me where I could find these unicorns,” Emile mused as she stood up, walking over to the knot of unicorn hair on the wall.

“Sure can, but first ye’ll be wantin fairy eggs and woodlice, right?” Hagrid smiled and took two bags off of the table, handing them to Emile.

“You couldn’t be more right,” Emile smiled and whistled for Achilles, following Hagrid and Fang into the forest. 

They marched a considerably far distance into the forest; Emile was certain they were lost. Here and there considerably large spiders would dart out of their way and the occasional hoofbeats of what Hagrid told her were centaurs would echo throughout the trees. 

Achilles was flying throughout the trees doing his best to search for bowtruckles, but as they reached nearly an hour of walking Emile was beginning to doubt Hagrid.

“Are you sure you know where to find them?” Emile questioned for the third time as they hopped over a small stream.

“O’course I am,” Hagrid grunted back.

**_I don’t think he knows where he’s going._ **

**He knows the woods better than any other teacher, we have to trust him.**

“There!” Hagrid whispered excitedly, peering around a tree. Emile joined him, and they watched a handsome young unicorn graze beneath the shade of a tall rowan tree. Emile stiffened as she caught sight of Achilles flying amongst the branches, nipping at the bark.

**Jackpot!**

**_Lucky us._ **

“Male unicorns prefer a woman’s touch, ye can go get them hairs you need,” Hagrid said nervously, holding back Fang. 

Emile swallowed nervously. “Right. Um, Hagrid?”

Hagrid let out a grunt.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a brush with you, would you?”

“Alright, I think I might,” Hagrid reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a scratchy old hairbrush. Emile cleaned it off a bit before stepping into the clearing. The unicorn looked up at her as she drew closer, watching her carefully as he chewed on his grass. Emile paused a few feet away and sat down on the grass with her legs crossed, watching the unicorn.

“Hello,” she said quietly. “My name is Emile.”

The unicorn let out a snort.

“I was wondering if you would let me brush your mane,” Emile continued, holding up the brush. 

The unicorn bowed his head and kneeled down in the grass, resting his head on her lap. Emile shivered as the large, dangerous horn brushed against her cheek. She sat for a good half an hour, brushing the unicorns silver mane until she had a large amount of hairs caught in the comb.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but my leg is cramping,” Emile whispered after a while. 

The unicorn snorted and lifted his head, allowing Emile to stand up. She stretched her legs out as the unicorn put his head back down and drifted off to sleep in a patch of sunlight. 

Achilles gave an angry hoot from next to the tree as Emile approached it.

“What, are you jealous?” She teased the owl as she slipped the comb into her pouch and took out the fairy eggs and woodlice from Hagrid. “Don’t be.”

Achilles gave another hoot and flew up into the tree, leaving Emile to follow as best as she could on her broom. Achilles landed in front of a knot in the trunk, where three somewhat bedraggled bowtruckles were skulking. Achilles seemed proud of the way he had ripped one of their arms.

“Achilles, I said find, not injure,” Emil said crossly, pulling out her wand and doing the best she could to heal the poor creatures. 

They twittered warily, slitting nervously in the knot in the tree until she offered them a few woodlice and fairy eggs. Achilles glowered on the branch, keeping an eye on the bowtruckles as a few more came out and joined the group. Emile flew further up the tree and sawed off several branches, stuffing them into her mokeskin pouch, which had grown considerably heavier.

“Achilles, heel!” she called as she flew past the sleeping unicorn to where Hagrid was sitting with Fang.

“Ye got what ye came here for?” he said with a smile. 

“I did indeed,” Emile grinned as Achilles landed on her shoulder. “Let’s go back.”

Emile stayed at Hagrid’s for lunch. He offered her some meatballs that looked a bit like rocks, but she kindly turned them down, insisting that she had to eat her own food before it went bad. Achilles tucked his head under his wing and dozed off on top of one of the shelves.

As Emile finished her food a knock sounded on the door. Hagrid went to open it and Emile gathered her scraps.

“Mornin Professor,” Hagrid’s voice came from behind Emile. “She’s in here, she is.”

Emile turned quickly, hand on her wand, to find Professor Dumbledore standing in the doorway. 

“Professor Dumbledore,” Emile jumped up from her seat. “I was just leaving.”

“Humor an old man for a few minutes, Miss Gorska,” Professor Dumbledore smiled and flicked his wand, causing a bottle to appear out of thin air. “Here, Madame Rosmerta’s finest oak nurtured mead.

Hagrid passed out a few cups and Dumbledore poured the drink for everyone. Emile took a hesitant sip, enjoying the sweet drink. It might end up being her last drink in a long time.

“I’m sure the by now, Miss Gorska, you are aware of what happened to Mr. Ollivander,” Dumbledore said after a moment.

“I was there, Professor,” Emile said quietly. “They’re looking for me, too.”

“I thought something like this might happen,” Dumbledore said quietly, putting his cup down.

**_And you didn’t tell us? Jerk._ **

**Bartemius!**

“Horcruxes sometimes cannot even control their own strength when they are inside a vessel. It seems that Bellatrix and Dolohov are aware of the bit of Bartemius inside of you, you were right to leave your location at the Weasley twins apartment.”

“I’ve got a hiding spot, I set a lot of protection spells around it,”

“Miss Gorska, I would suggested moving around as much as possible,” Dumbledore said warily. “Spend every other month at your hideout, but visit your friends for the others.”

“Perhaps I could help out a bit more with the Order,” Emile said eagerly.

“Perhaps you could,” Dumbledore gave her a curious look. “I would have to discuss it with a few of the Order’s senior members, but I’m sure we could work something out. Until then, continue the mission Ollivander has given you. Perhaps consider going out of the country for a month.”

“Oh wow,” Emile stared at Dumbledore. “I don’t really have the recourses to prepare for a trip like that.”

“If you need to visit the Hogwarts library, the doors are always open,” Dumbledore smiled. “But I have no doubt you would rather have your own books.”

Emile smiled and nodded. “Yes, I think that would be better.”

“I don’t suppose ye want to say Hello to ol’ Buckbeak before ye left,” Hagrid grinned as he held the door to the cottage open for her, gesturing with one hand to the Hippogriff tied up by the pumpkin patch. 

“Hello, Buckbeak,” Emile smiled, bowing several feet away from the magical creature.

Buckbeak looked up from the pumpkin he was mauling for a split second to bow back, letting Emile approach him and pet his long neck. Several of his feathers clung to her shirt as she pulled her arm away, but the Hippogriff didn’t fight back.

“Is he molting, Hagrid?” Emile called curiously. 

“Aye, that he is,” the half giant smiled before going back into the house.

Achilles gave a small hoot from her shoulder. 

“I know, Hippogriff feather is a wand core used to stabilize other cores,” Emile tapped her chin thoughtfully before resuming her petting of Buckbeak.

As she pet the Hippogriff more she began to collect the feathers that were sticking to her arm. Once she had gathered a handful she pulled a bag out of her pouch and placed the bundle of feathers inside. 

Soon she was leaving Hogwarts with Achilles perched on her shoulder. She stopped in Hogsmeade to pick up a few books at Tomes and Scrolls, trying not to pay too much attention the the gigantic posters of Death Eaters glaring down at her from every shop window. 

The clerk inside the store recognized her as a recent graduate, and asked a lot of questions about her future plans. 

“I’ll be going to Germany to study um, Beastology, with a second cousin who graduated from Durmstrang,” Emile quickly pulled out several galleons and knuts from her moneybag and placed them on the counter.

“Oh, how nice,” The clerk smiled. “What’s your cousin’s name?”

**_Dickface._ **

**I need a German name.**

**_Hitler._ **

“Bartmenius,” Emile growled out loud.

“Sorry, what was that?” The clerk looked nervously around the store.

“Gunther,” Emile said, a fake smile on her face. 

“Is this her?” The clerk said with a nervous whisper, staring at something behind Emile.

“We said a ginger, not a blue haired freak,” came a rough growl behind her.

Emile turned around, wand in her hand, to find two death eaters standing by the door.

**_Alecto and Amycus Carrow_ ** . 

Alecto stared at Emile, looking deep into her eyes.

**_Let’s get out of here._ **

“I don’t want any trouble,” Emile said stiffly, wand pointed at the two Death Eaters. “I don’t know who you’re looking for.”

“She’s a recent Hogwarts graduate, I remember her. She used to be ginger,” the clerk said desperately. “She has the scar, I swear. Look at her neck.”

“I don’t know who you’re looking for but it isn’t me.” Emile repeated as Achilles gave a rustle on her shoulder, ending down onto her arm. “If you don’t mind then I think I’ll take my purchases and go now.”

Emile picked up the books she had bought and slipped them into her mokeskin pouch. 

“You aren’t going anywhere,” Amycus hissed and poked her with his wand. “What were you doing at Hogwarts? Only members of the Order visit Hogwarts during the summer.”

Emile let out a sigh and took a step forward, her wand raised. Before the two Death Eaters could do anything she turned on heel, apparating out of the shop and into the treehouse.

**That was close.**

**_We should probably lay low for a couple of days._ **

**We probably should.**

Emile didn’t leave the treehouse for three days. She spent those days cleaning up the wood she had gotten from the Rowan tree. It’s wood was very light and stunningly pretty. Unfortunately Emile didn’t feel like the Rowan would go well with the unicorn hair, so she put off making an actual wand with the wood and core she currently had at her disposal. 

Nathan had sent her a concerned letter. Fred and George had apparently informed many people about her disappearance, or “spontaneous flight to freedom,” as Nathan put it. She informed him by return owl that she was safe and that it was probably best if no one contacted her for a while, but that she would visit him at his new job as a trainee healer in St. Mungo’s as soon as she could. 

On her fourth day of solitary confinement Emile was woken by Achilles tapping impatiently on the window to the treehouse. Shouts from the outside confirmed her worries; he had been spotted and they had been found.

“Colloportus,” Emile whispered and pointed her wand at the entrance to the treehouse. 

**_Don’t lock the windows, get your owl inside._ **

**He has a name.**

**_His name is a bit rude._ **

**Who are you to lecture me about being rude?**

She quickly let Achilles in and shut him in his cage, covering it with a blanket before doing the same to herself. From under the blanket, she cast the Disillusionment Charm on the blanket and sat in silence, holding her breath. Hoofsteps were coming from below the treehouse, as well as the sounds of a person dismounting.

“Get out of there, that’s Miss Emile’s treehouse!”

Emile poked her head out from under her blanket, holding her breath. She peered out the window warily. Sure enough, Darren was right outside the treehouse with Cygnus, Cedric’s old horse. He was trying to climb into the treehouse.

“Alohomora!” Emile called out, running across to the stable boy as he climbed into the tree house and wrapping her arms around him. “Darren!”

“Who are you?” Darren shoved her away. “You are trespassing on Diggory Property, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Knock it off Darren,” Emile shoved him in the arm. “It’s me, Emile.”

“Emile?” Darren squinted at her suspiciously. “How do I know it’s you?”

“Who else did I tell about this place besides you and the twins?” Emile frowned and crossed her arms.

“You bring up a good point,” Darren grinned and gave her a hug. “Merlin’s beard, what did you do to your hair?”

“I love it very much,’ Emile smiled and tossed her head.

“Blue haired miscreant…” Darren gave her an odd look. “You’re on the run, aren’t you?”

“What, it isn’t obvious?” Emile snorted and waved her hand behind her, indicating the pile of dirty clothes and scattered tools. “Welcome to by base of operations.”

“What exactly is your operation?” Darren said with a smirk as Emile sat down on her sleeping bag.

“Avoid Death Eaters and continue on with my assignment from Mr. Ollivander,” Emile grinned and pat the sleeping bag next to her. “Sit down, I haven’t had anyone to talk to in days.”

Achilles let out a screech and clucked his beak from his cage, causing Darren to jump.

“Except for you, Achilles,” Emile laughed and took the blanket off of his cage, revealing the grouchy Boreal.

“I thought you said you’d rather die then get an owl,” Darren laughed as Emile opened the cage door for Achilles.

The owl’s beak dropped and he gave Emile a dirty look, flying off into a corner of the treehouse to brood. 

“Now look what you’ve done,” Emile scolded. “He won’t come down from there quickly.”

Darren smiled as she sat down next to him. They spent the next hour or so talking about what’s been going on. He showed her a safety pamphlet that the Ministry had distributed to every household, which they agreed was useless.

“I learned more in Umbridge’s class then I did from reading this,” Emile scoffed.

Eventually Darren left; he had his duties to do on the property. He promised to visit the next day with food and soap, the one thing Emile had forgotten to pack. 

Emile was planning her next trip to find wood. She couldn’t risk being recognized again, so she was going out of country. She had already written to her cousin, Alex, to ask when the best time to visit would be, and she was waiting for a response. In the meantime she flipped through the books she had available, trying to figure out where she could find cores. 

“If I were to leave the country for a month, could you watch over Achilles?” Emile asked Darren almost a week later.

“Of course, but I’d like to know where you were going,” Darren said without blinking. 

“America, most likely,” Emile smiled and looked up from the book in front of her. “I might go to Africa later.”

“Why?”

“I’d like to try working with Fwooper feather cores,” Emile said with a small smile. 

“Aren’t Fwooper’s those birds that drive people insane if they listen to their songs?” Darren gave her an odd look. 

“Yes,” Emile smiled and gestured towards the pile of feathers on one of the shelves in the tree house. “That’s why I have those. Hippogriff feathers to stabilize the Fwooper feathers.”

“Wow,” Darren smiled at her. “You’ve learned a lot.”

“I would hope so,” Emile grinned. “What about you? What have you been up to?”

“Not too much,” Darren shrugged. “I’ve been talking to an old friend of yours, Oliver.”

“Wood?” Emile stared at him.

“Um, yeah,” Darrens face grew a bit red. “He’s, you know. Great.”

Emile smiled and turned away. “Mhm.”

After a full two weeks in the treehouse, Emile decided to go visit Diagon Alley. She transfigured her appearance, giving herself long brown hair and a more angular face, and dressed in a bulky sweater. 

Since Achilles was known by several shop owners in the alley, Emile left him in the treehouse with a note for Darren before apparating to the Leaky Cauldron. The weather that day was a bit rainy, so the pub was a bit more crowded than usual. 

Diagon Alley was almost unrecognizable. In the two weeks since she had last visited most of the shopped had been abandoned, and their darkened windows were covered in wanted posters of the various Death Eaters on the loose. Blown up copies of the Ministry issued Safety Pamphlet were right next to them.

The only ray of hope in the Alley was Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. The colorful store shone with its own kind of magic amongst the darkened stores that surrounded it. Inside one could see Fred and George showing off their latest inventions in their neon green suits made out of the finest dragon skin. 

Emile watched wistfully through the window as George helped a little girl pick out a Pygmy Puff and Fred walked around handing out sheets of paper. She ducked as he walked over to the window and pasted a paper amongst the wanted posters and merchandise advertisements. 

HELP WANTED

Are you good with customers? Organized? Willing to help with the creation of new Pranking Merchandise? Then come to Weasley’s Wizards Wheezes July 30th! Fred and George Weasley are looking for a brand new member of the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes staff, and it could be you!

**_Wow, look at that._ **

**I can’t believe they need more help.**

**_Yeah, maybe if you’d have stayed then they wouldn’t._ **

**What do you mean?**

**_You already live with them, working for them would have been the next step since you can’t exactly work for Ollivander anymore._ **

“Excuse me, do you need something?”

Emile jumped as George’s voice came from next to her.

“You’ve been staring at the window for several minutes, do you want to come inside out of the rain?” he offered, holding the door open.

“N-no,” Emile hesitantly adjusted the glasses on her nose and cleared her throat. “I was just leaving.”

“Alright then, safe travels,” George grinned and tipped his top hat, taking a step into the shop before turning around quickly. “You know, a good friend of mine had a sweater just like that one.”

“She must have good taste,” Emile said with a small smile, tucking her unusually long brown hair behind her ear. 

“Yeah, she did,” George sighed and stared down at his shoes.

**_Quick, crack a joke._ **

“Uh, she must have been important to you if you paid such close attention to her sweaters,” Emile let out a forced and uncomfortable laugh.

“She was,” George said quietly before going back into the shop, leaving Emile staring wistfully after him.

**_You’re terrible at cracking jokes._ **

**Was I really that important to him?**

**_Did you seriously not realize this? Wow, you’re hurting a lot of people._ **

**I’m trying to protect them.**

**_See, this is why I didn’t make any friends._ **


	62. Return to the Weasley's

_ Dear Emile, _

_ We’d love to have you visit! Mother and father are going on vacation July 20th to August 3rd, but besides that we have no plans. They said they’d be happy to have you stop by whenever. _

_ Let us know when you plan on visiting exactly so that we can make sure to clear the guest room bed of all cat hair. _

_ Sincerely, _

_ Alex Gorski _

Emile smiled and folded up the letter that had been delivered to her by owl from the Weasley’s. Mrs. Weasley had agreed to let Emile use their mailbox when she needed to deliver any muggle mail, and sent back her responses with Errol. Though Emile and Dumbledore had advised against it, Mrs. Weasley had also included a personal letter in this delivery.

_ Dear Emile, _

_ I know it’s hardly my place to lecture you about your safety, but I’ve heard rumors from so many people about your whereabouts. Fred and George are so worried about your safety, we all are. Ginny would love to hear that you’re safe and sound and away from trouble. Arthur heard that you’d been attacked by the Carrow’s in Hogsmeade, but that you had gotten away.  _

_ Please just let us know that you’re safe, that’s all I ask. _

_ Molly Weasley _

Emile felt her stomach twinge with guilt. Mrs. Weasley had always been kind to her, she deserved a half decent explanation. Emile could pop over for dinner one day to explain more thoroughly what was going on. 

Fingers shaking, Emile pulled out a pen and a piece of parchment. 

_ Dear Molly, _

_ I’m doing alright. I’m safe; well, safe enough. No one’s safe anymore.  _

_ I can’t say too much in this letter, it could be dangerous if it got intercepted. I’ll be going out of country for a while to visit family, so I’ll probably end up safer than a lot of you lot.  _

_ I miss all of you. Remind Fred and George to water my plants until I return. I promise that I will return. _

_ Emile Victoria Gorska _

Emile shivered as she sealed the letter, placing it next to the table. An anxious Achilles tried to grab it, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“I need to write another letter, Achilles,” Emile smiled. “I need you to remain here for a while, I’ve got to go to a travel agency.”

Achilles let out a screech, hopping down to the trap door entrance and sitting down on top and clucked his beak disapprovingly.

“I know you don’t like me going without you, but it would be odd for me to walk around downtown London with an owl on my shoulder,” Emile smiled and crouched down next to the owl, petting his head. “I’ll be safe, it’s a Saturday, and it’s tourist season. The streets will be crowded.”

Achilles ruffled his feathers but did not get off of the trap door.

“It’s not like you can stop me,” Emile smirked and put on her shoes. “I’ll just apparate from here.”

“Lunch!” came a voice from outside.

Achilles flew off the trapdoor as Darren opened it up, holding a basket. 

“I’ve got butterbeer,” he panted, smiling.

“Right as I was about to leave, you come in with food,” Emile smiled.

Achilles hooted angrily and flew into his cage.

“What’s up with him?” Darren asked as Emile pulled out a sandwich from the basket of food.

“He doesn’t want me to leave,” Emile rolled her eyes. 

“I don’t either,” Darren laughed, “but there’s no stopping you.”

“I’m going to be going to America sometime in the beginning of August,” Emile said quietly. “Will you watch Achilles then?”

“You can count on me. Though, I would like to know why you’re going to America.”

Emile felt her face flush. “I’m going to visit my cousin. Beside’s I should probably get away from here before the Death Eaters find me.”

“I doubt they could find you here,” Darren grinned. “Only four people know about this place. You, me, and those two red heads.”

Emile gave a small smile as she thought of Fred and George. 

**_You could go talk to them, you know._ **

**I could, but I won’t.**

**_You make me so mad._ **

**That sounds like something a toddler would say; Come on Bartemius, you could do better than that.**

“So if you’re going to America in August, what are you going to do for the next two weeks?” Daren interrupted.

**_Hey, can’t he see that you’re talking to someone?_ **

**No.**

**_Oh, right._ **

**Idiot.**

**_Shut up_ ** _. _

“Oh you know, a bit of this, a bit of that,” Emile smiled at Darren. “I was thinking about visiting an old professor of mine.”

“Really?” Darren leaned forward. “Which one?”

“Snape.”

Darren spit out his butterbeer, sending it sailing across the room and onto Achilles. The Boreal owl let out a screech and ruffled his feathers, shaking off the sweet drink while glaring at the stable boy.

“Oh, he is not having a good day,” Emile said with a small smile. “Poor Achilles.”

“Mr. Diggory was being asked some odd questions about you the other day,” Darren looked at Emile. “These two blokes from the Ministry were doing the talking, apparently.”

“What did he say?” Emile held her breath.

Darren shrugged. “Apparently Arthur Weasley interrupted before he could say anything.”

Emile smiled at Darren. “I’ll thank Mr. Weasley next time I see him.”

“When will that be?” Darren said with a worried look.

“Probably sometime in August,” Emile shrugged.

“You’ve got a lot planned for August,” Darren smiled. “Will you come here at all?”

Emile paused for a moment. “I think I will, to pick up Achilles and move locations for a while.”

“Move locations?”

Emile turned away from Darren. “It isn’t safe to stay in one spot for too long…”

Soon Emile was saying goodbye to Achilles and Darren. It was two days before her flight to America left, and she was going to spend a night at The Burrow before she left. Achilles was less then happy that she was leaving, but he seemed satisfied with his Caretaker. Darren would later inform her that the owl enjoyed sleeping in the rafters of the barn while he worked on clearing the stalls, and would often sit on the saddlehorn when Darren took the horses out for rides. 

When Emile apparated to the Burrow she was greeted by a large crowd of Weasleys. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were the first to come out of the Burrow; they were soon followed by Bill, Ron, and Hermione. Fred and George hadn’t been able to make it, but Emile was invited to join them on a trip to Diagon Alley the next morning.

“Harry says the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is a bit large and sluggish,” Ginny informed Emile as they sat around the worn wooden table for dinner. 

“Ginny, that’s no way to talk about future teachers,” Mrs. Weasley scolded. “Professor Slughorn taught your father and myself, you know.”

“Harry’s also been made Quidditch Captain,” Ginny grinned at Emile.

“That’s brilliant, I thought it might end up being Katie, but I guess not.”

“What’s this?” Bill gave Emile a curious look as she slipped him a sealed envelope.

“Shh!” Emile hissed and looked around the table. No one had noticed the exchange. “I need you to deliver this to Charlie as soon as you can.”

“Alright,” Bill gave her a bemused look. “Why so secretive?”

“I don’t think your mother would be happy to hear what I’m doing,” Emile said with a sad smile.

Bill nodded and didn’t question any further.

**_Why wouldn’t Molly approve of you going to get Dragon heartstring?_ **

**I don’t think she would approve of me going to Romania. You’ve heard the rumors.**

**_Right, the Dark Lord plans on traveling there._ **

“Alright there, Ron, Harry, will you clear the table while I fetch dessert?” Mrs.Weasley stood up from the table and walked into the kitchen, fetching a large bowl of pudding.

“So, tell us where you’ve been hiding, won’t you?” Ginny grinned as she helped herself to dessert.

“I’ve got a hideout, I’ve been safe,” Emile smiled at them. “I can’t tell you where it is, but I can tell you where I’m going.”

“Yes, please do,” Mrs. Weasley’s face was dawn back in a tight smile. 

“I’m going to America,” Emile grinned. “My cousin invited me to visit, I figured the safest place to be right now is out of the country.”

“Where in America?” Ron asked, eyes wide.

“New York City,” Emile laughed as both Ron and Ginny gasped.

“Goodness, be sure to try their american ‘bagels’, I hear they’re smashing,” Bill smiled.

“I bet all the boys will try to hit on you since you’ve got a British accent; American boys love accents,” Ginny said with a mischievous glint in her eyes. 

**_She’s not wrong._ **

**Don’t scare me, I can’t defend myself physically.**

**_Just use magic and then erase their memories._ **

**I don’t know, Bartemius. From what I’ve heard, the American wizard government is really strict.**

“It will certainly be an adventure,” Emile winked at the youngest Weasley.

The following morning Bill and Fleur stayed home while the group went off to Diagon Alley after breakfast. The redhead passed a bag of money past a wide eyed Ron and over to Harry.

“Where’s mine?” demanded Ron at once, his eyes wide. 

“That’s already Harry’s, idiot,” said Bill. “I got it out of your vault for you, Harry, because it’s taking about five hours for the public to get to their gold at the moment, the goblins have tightened security so much. Two days ago Arkie Philpott had a Probity Probe stuck up his . . . Well, trust me, this way’s easier.” 

“Thanks, Bill,” said Harry, pocketing his gold. 

“ ’E is always so thoughtful,” purred Fleur adoringly, stroking Bill’s nose. 

Ginny mimed vomiting into her cereal behind Fleur. Harry choked over his cornflakes, and Ron thumped him on the back. 

It was an overcast, murky day. One of the special Ministry of Magic cars was awaiting them in the front yard when they emerged from the house, pulling on their cloaks. 

“I could just apparate, really,” Emile hung back as the group piled into the car.

“Nonsense, you need more protecting than the majority of us,” Mrs. Weasley ushered her into the crowded vehicle. 

“Here you are, then,” said the driver, a surprisingly short while later, speaking for the first time as he slowed in Charing Cross Road and stopped outside the Leaky Cauldron. “I’m to wait for you, any idea how long you’ll be?” 

“A couple of hours, I expect,” said Mr. Weasley. “Ah, good, he’s here!” 

Emile backed out of the car to see Hagrid making his way through the crowd towards them. The many people parted like the red sea as he approached the group.

The Leaky Cauldron was completely empty. Only Tom the landlord, wizened and toothless, remained of the old crowd. He looked up hopefully as they entered, but before he could speak, Hagrid said importantly, “Jus’ passin’ through today, Tom, sure yeh understand, Hogwarts business, yeh know.” 

Tom nodded gloomily as the majority of the group headed towards the entrance to the Alley.

“Actually, if it isn’t too much trouble,” Emile hung back and grabbed Mrs. Weasley by the arm, “I think I’ll warm up for a bit here. I wouldn’t mind a warm butterbeer.”

“Are you sure?” 

Emile let out a laugh. “Well it’s not like I need to buy anything for school.”

Mrs. Weasley glanced behind her to where Hagrid was tapping the bricks with his pink umbrella. “Alright, but we’ll send someone to get you once we head to Fred and George’s shop.”

“I’ll be here!” Emile called after her as she stepped through the opening to the deserted Alley. Turning to Tom, who looked very hopeful, she said “I’ll take a warm butterbeer.”

“With pleasure,” Tom whistled, busting behind the counter as Emile sat down at a nearby table.

By the time her butterbeer was delivered, Emile had pulled out her sketchbook and was absentmindedly criticizing her work over the years.

“I know that fellow,” Tom said and leaned over to get a closer look, squinting at the drawing. “Ye, that there s’ George Weasley.”

“It is,” Emile said with a small smile, looking at the drawing she had done in her third year. “It’s a very old drawing, Ii’ve got newer ones.”

“There’s quite a few of Mr. George, isn’t there?” Tom nudged Emile and winked. She rolled her eyes and drained her butterbeer.

**_Why do you draw George so much?_ **

**I like his hair, and facial structure.**

**_And his eyes, his personality, his-_ **

**Let me stop you right there.**

**_I know you think he’s a good kisser._ **

**So?**

**_You’re so deep in denial._ **

“Emile? We’re heading off to the twins now,” Mr. Weasley’s head appeared through the portal.

“I’m coming!” Emile called and quickly folded up her sketchbook.

Mrs. Weasley was waiting impatient with her watch in hand, checking every few moments.

“There you two are! We really haven’t got too long,” Mrs. Weasley snapped. “So we’ll just have a quick look around and then back to the car. We must be close, that’s number ninety-two . . . ninety-four . . .” 

“Whoa,” said Ron, stopping in his tracks. 

Set against the dull, poster-muffled shop fronts around them, Fred and George’s windows hit the eye like a firework display. Casual passersby were looking back over their shoulders at the windows, transfixed. The left-hand window was dazzlingly full of an assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked. The righthand window was covered with a gigantic poster, purple like those of the Ministry, but emblazoned with flashing yellow letters:

WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT YOU-KNOW-WHO? 

YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT U-NO-POO —

THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION THAT’S GRIPPING THE NATION! 

Harry started to laugh, and he wasn’t the only one. Emile and Ginny were giggling like preeschoolers while Hermione and Mrs. Weasley stared, shocked. Their lips moved silently, mouthing the name “U-No-Poo.” 

“They’ll be murdered in their beds!” Mrs. Weasley whispered. 

“No they won’t!” said Ron, who was laughing. “This is brilliant!”

The inside of the shop was packed with customers. The Skiving Snackboxes seemed most popular out of all the inventions, the Nosebleed Nousgat was almost emptied. Bins of fake wands were surrounded by eager hands, reaching for them from every direction. Emile’s personal favorite, the Patented Daydream Charms, had caught Hermione’s attention in particular.

“‘One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens,’” she read aloud as Emile squeezed past.

Fred was coming in their direction so Emile darted towards the back room, intent on grabbing a few more articles of clothing from her room. The twins hadn’t changed the locks on the door so Emile managed to get in with her old key.

The apartment was just as she had left it, though the dirty dishes in the sink were piled a bit high. Emile leaned against the wall, taking several deep breaths. She was safe here. She was in the twins apartment.

A bit shakily, Emile went down the hallway to her room. It was just as she had left it, several books were strewn across the floor and the bed was neatly made. The plant that was her father stood by the window, it’s green stalk taller than she had left it. Fred and George most likely forgot to water it several times, but at least it wasn’t dead. Her folded clothes were stacked by color and anything hanging in the closet was neatly organized. Emile shifted through the pile, trying to pick out just a few clothes to take with her. In the end she shoved most of the clothing into her pouch and called it good, grabbing soap from her bathroom before leaving. 

“We’ve just developed this more serious line,” Fred’s voice came from further down the stairs. “Funny how it happened . . .” 

Emile crouched down at the top of the second landing, watching as Fred and George gave Harry a tour of the shop.

“You wouldn’t believe how many people, even people who work at the Ministry, can’t do a decent Shield Charm,” said George. “ ’Course, they didn’t have you teaching them, Harry.” 

“That’s right. . . . Well, we thought Shield Hats were a bit of a laugh, you know, challenge your mate to jinx you while wearing it and watch his face when the jinx just bounces off. But the Ministry bought five hundred for all its support staff! And we’re still getting massive orders!” 

“So we’ve expanded into a range of Shield Cloaks, Shield Gloves . . .” 

“. . . I mean, they wouldn’t help much against the Unforgivable Curses, but for minor to moderate hexes or jinxes . . .” 

“And then we thought we’d get into the whole area of Defense Against the Dark Arts, because it’s such a money spinner,” continued George enthusiastically. “This is cool. Look, Instant Darkness Powder, we’re importing it from Peru. Handy if you want to make a quick escape.” 

“And our Decoy Detonators are just walking off the shelves, look,” said Fred, pointing at a number of weird-looking black horn-type objects that were indeed attempting to scurry out of sight. “You just drop one surreptitiously and it’ll run off and make a nice loud noise out of sight, giving you a diversion if you need one. 

“Handy,” said Harry.

“Here,” said George, catching a couple and throwing them to Harry. 

A young witch with short blonde hair poked her head around the curtain, her magenta staff robes looking very neat in comparison to the twins slightly rumpled and stained ones.

“There’s a customer out here looking for a joke cauldron, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley,” she said. 

Emile couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. 

**Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley.**

**_Mister. That’s so fancy. So professional._ **

**That’s what I get for not taking them seriously.**

“Right you are, Verity, I’m coming,” said George promptly. “Harry, you help yourself to anything you want, all right? No charge.” 

“I can’t do that!” said Harry, who had already pulled out his money bag. 

“You don’t pay here,” said Fred firmly, waving away Harry’s gold. 

“But —” 

“You gave us our start-up loan, we haven’t forgotten,” said George sternly. “Take whatever you like, and just remember to tell people where you got it, if they ask.” 

George swept off through the curtain to help with the customers, and Fred led Harry back into the main part of the shop. Emile waited a few moments before sliding down the rest of the staircase and into the storage room, about to creep out into the main part of the shop.

“What are you doing here?” Verity had returned, a large box of Nosebleed Nougat in her arms. “This area is for Employee’s only.”

“I live here, I think I can count as an Employee,” Emile crossed her arms defiantly.

The short haired blonde gave a small gasp and set the box of candy down. “It’s you! Emile, isn’t it? I’ve wanted to meet you for a while.”

“How do you know about me?” Emile said with a frown.

Verity laughed. “Oh, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley talk about you all the time. It’s hard not to know about you.”

“Oh,” Emile felt her face growing hot. She glimpsed Hermione and Ginny over by an array of violently pink merchandise. 

“I’d better get back to my group,” she mumbled awkwardly to Verity. “Nice meeting you.”

“You too!” Verity chirped and picked the box back up as Emile went out into the store. 

“There you go,” said Fred proudly. “Best range of love potions you’ll find anywhere.” 

Ginny raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Do they work?” she asked. 

Emile stood on Fred’s left, winking at Ginny when the redhead didn’t notice her. Ginny rolled her eyes, listening to Fred lecture. 

“Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on the weight of the boy in question —” 

“— and the attractiveness of the girl,” said George, reappearing suddenly at their side. “But we’re not selling them to our sister,” he added, becoming suddenly stern, “not when she’s already got about five boys on the go from what we’ve —” 

“Whatever you’ve heard from Ron is a big fat lie,” said Ginny calmly, leaning forward to take a small pink pot off the shelf. 

“What’s this?” 

“Guaranteed ten-second pimple vanisher,” said Fred. “Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don’t change the subject. Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?” 

“Yes, I am,” said Ginny. “And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?” 

She was pointing at a number of round balls of fluff in shades of pink and purple, all rolling around the bottom of a cage and emitting high-pitched squeaks. 

“Pygmy Puffs,” said George. “Miniature puffskeins, we can’t breed them fast enough. So what about Michael Corner?” 

“I dumped him, he was a bad loser,” said Ginny, putting a finger through the bars of the cage and watching the Pygmy Puffs crowd around it. “They’re really cute!” 

“They’re fairly cuddly, yes,” conceded Fred. “But you’re moving through boyfriends a bit fast, aren’t you?” 

Ginny turned to look at him, her hands on her hips. There was such a Mrs. Weasley-ish glare on her face that Emile was surprised Fred didn’t recoil. “It’s none of your business. And I’ll thank you,” she added angrily to Ron, who had just appeared at George’s elbow, laden with merchandise, “not to tell tales about me to these two!” 

“That’s three Galleons, nine Sickles, and a Knut,” said Fred, examining the many boxes in Ron’s arms. “Cough up.” 

“I’m your brother!” 

“And that’s our stuff you’re nicking. Three Galleons, nine Sickles. I’ll knock off the Knut.” 

“But I haven’t got three Galleons, nine Sickles!” 

“You’d better put it back then, and mind you put it on the right shelves.” 

Ron dropped several boxes, swore, and made a rude hand gesture at Fred that was unfortunately spotted by Mrs. Weasley, who had chosen that moment to appear. 

“If I see you do that again I’ll jinx your fingers together,” she said sharply. 

“Mum, can I have a Pygmy Puff?” said Ginny at once. 

“A what?” said Mrs. Weasley warily. 

“Look, they’re so sweet. . . .” 

“Have you been standing there long?” A voice spoke in Emile’s ear.

She jumped to find Fred looking right at her, grinning. He laughed as she wrapped her arms around him in a hug.

“Emile?!” George had turned away from the Pygmy Puff’s at the sound of his brothers laugh and was standing next to them.

“George!” Emile laughed and let go of Fred, wrapping her arms around George.

“I can’t, how, what are you doing here?” he choked out as he hugged her back.

“I came with your family,” Emile smiled up at them. “I’m staying with them for another day before I move on.”

“Move on?” Fred threw George a concerned look. “To where?”

“I’m going to America to visit some extended family,” Emile looked up at them as their frowns faltered. “It’s safest for me to leave the country, at the moment.”

“Dumbledore told us about Ollivander, and how they were looking for you,” George whispered into her ear. “Do us a favor and don’t get caught, we’d miss you.”

Emile wrapped her arms around George again. “Don’t worry, you won’t get rid of me that easily.”

Fred groaned and crossed his arms. “You two sicken me.”

“I think they’re adorable,” Ginny gushed as she came up to them with Mrs. Weasley. “Oh, and we’ll be taking Arnold.”

“Arnold?” Fred stared at his little sister as a Pygmy Puff popped out of the long red hair covering her shoulders. “Oh.”

“Where has Harry gone too?” Mrs. Weasley looked around the shop, concerned.

“He’s probably with Ron and Hermione,” Emile shrugged. “Maybe he’s showing them the new Defense Against the Dark Arts line.”

“He’s over there!” Fred pointed near the door, where Harry, Ron and Hermione were standing, looking a bit hassled.

“You went out of the store!” Mrs. Weasley stood over them, arms crossed.

“No, we were here the whole time,” Ron said indignantly.

“I looked for you, Hagrid looked for you-”

“You must have missed us, the store is quite crowded,” Hermione said. 

Emile raised her eyebrow at the sixth years. Mrs. Weasley seemed to think that if Hermione said they were in the store, then they had been in the store. But Emile thought otherwise.

“Where did you go?” she hissed into Hermione’s ear as soon as Mrs. Weasley’s back was turned.

“It’s not important,” Hermione whispered back.

Emile let out a snort before looking again for the twins. 

“Give me one more hug, both of you,” Emile said as she located them behind the counter.

“When will you be back?” George whispered into her ear as she pulled away.

“It’s a surprise,” Emile winked.

Fred laughed. “How big of a surprise.

“So big that I don’t even know.”


	63. So Long, Farewell

When they got back to the Burrow Emile sent a message through her Patronus to Snape and waited for a response. She didn’t necessarily need to speak with the Professor; she just wanted to see how he was doing before she left for Merlin only knew how long. 

She had told Alex that she was going to stay with him for a week in the Big Apple. After that she had no concrete plan. She had a desire to visit the West Coast, since there lived a famous Native American wand maker she was interested in visiting. Shikoba Wolfe was famous for making elegant wands with Thunderbird Tail feather cores. Her wands were sought after by many people, and excelled at transfiguration. 

Emile looked up from where she was sitting alone in the kitchen as a ball of silver light flew into the room and swirled around her, finally taking the shape of a doe. 

“Miss Gorska, I would be delighted to meet for a cup of tea. I live off off Spinners End, a muggle neighborhood in London. If you would like to meet tomorrow evening at 6 o’clock that would work splendidly.”

Emile watched as the doe with the voice of Snape dissolved into the air before sending back a response.

“Was that Snape I just heard in here?” Bill stretched as he came into the kitchen in his pajamas.

Emile nodded, a large yawn preventing her from responding. “Blimey, I think I’ll go off to bed.”

Bill nodded and went to the sink to get a glass of water as Emile went into the living room, where she was sleeping on the sofa. Ginny had Hermione in her room so there wasn’t enough room for Emile there too. 

It took her a while, but eventually Emile drifted off into a restless sleep. She had several dreams that night, waking up at one in the morning from the same dream of her grandfather dying. She didn’t want to go back to sleep but Bartemius had insisted. So she tried. 

Emile didn’t remember falling asleep. She found herself with Cedric; he was teaching her how to ride horses.

“No, never go under the horse’s stomach,” he grinned down at her. Cedric had always been a bit taller than Emile. Well, more than a bit.

“If you go under their stomach you could spook them, and I can’t get you out of the way from their hooves when you’re under there,” Cedric teased.

“It was one time!” Emile laughed back.

“You’re toe was the size of a tomato yesterday,” he chortled.

Emile crossed her arms indignantly. “But your mother fixed it up, and I got enough lectures from my father and her to last me an entire year. I won’t do it again. Let’s get on with the lesson.” 

Cedric helped Emil up onto Cygnus and led her around the paddock several times, until she got the gist of how to steer the horse. Emile bounced along on her own after that, trying to ignore Mr. Diggory praising Cedric every time she cantered by.

“You were brilliant,” Cedric smiled when she dismounted by the stables and handed the reigns over to Darren.

“Thank you,” Emile smiled, breathless. “That was so fun.”

“I’m a great teacher,” Cedric said flippantly, puffing out his chest.

Emile laughed. “You’ll be a great father.”

“I don’t want to be,” Cedric shivered. “I’m only eleven, Em!”

“And I’m ten! Almost eleven, Ced!” Emile grinned. “Doesn’t mean I don’t think about my future.”

“Emile, it’s time to get up,” A voice came from nowhere in particular.

“No,” Emile whispered, trying to hang onto the memory. But it had slipped away.

She opened her eyes groggily, seeing the blurry outline of a long haired ginger in front of her. 

“Ginny, do you need something?” Emile grumbled, reaching for her glasses on the floor.

“No, I just thought I aught to wake you up before Ron’s burps do,” Ginny smiled and sat across from her on an armchair, legs crossed. “Were you dreaming?”

“Was I?” Emile frowned, trying to remember. “Yes, I think I was.”

“What did you dream about?” Ginny prompted.

Emile smirked. “You sound like your mother.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Ginny smiled and swung her legs over the armchair, leaping nimbly off. “Breakfast’s in the kitchen, mom says you’ve got a big day ahead of you.”

Emile spent most of the day helping around the house. She made lunch with Mrs. Weasley, who was teaching Emile how to cook with magic. Emile had only ever cooked with her hands and muggle tools, so she was quite proud of the lettuce she had magically cut for the sandwiches.

After lunch Emile rode Nepeta one last time. The gorgeous Arabian had knickered when it spotted Emile, hardly being able to keep still as Emile brushed her and saddled her up. 

**_Hey_ ** **.**

**What do you want now?**

**_Wow, is that any way to treat your conscience?_ **

**If you’re my conscience them I’m doomed to die.**

**_I try to be nice and you go and say all these mean things._ **

**It’s because I love you.**

**_Good to know._ **

They rode in silence for a few minutes, Emile happily listening to the thud of Nepeta’s hooves on the dry dirt road.

**_So, you’re going to see Snape later._ **

**Yes.**

**_Why?_ **

**I just wanted to see him, is that a problem?**

**_Why are you so friendly with him?_ **

**He didn’t do anything wrong; he may have been a death eater but he’s changed.**

**_No one just abandons the Dark Lord. There’s something fishy going on._ **

**Well it’s not like you can investigate from inside me.**

**_I could, if I really tried._ **

**You are not taking over my body.**

**_You’re too strong. I can’t fight you awake._ **

**Oh no. No way.**

**_Come on, it’ll be just like sleepwalking!_ **

**Not a chance, Bartemius.**

Before Bartemius could respond a silver orb appeared in front of Emile, startling Nepeta. The horse reared back, almost knocking Emile off, but she clung on tightly.

“Woah! Steady! Nepeta, it’s alright!” Emile spoke loudly until the horse calmed down, flattening her ears as the orb in front of her took the form of a Fennec Fox.

“Guess what I learned? I know, I’m brilliant. Anyway’s, I just wanted to wish you safe travels. I’m going to be in Africa with my family so I don’t think a class reunion would work very well this month. Angelina’s already left for her trip across Europe. I wanted to wish you luck, wherever you are. And also to remind you that you promised to go on a date with me as soon as the war ends.”

Emile laughed to herself as the fennec fox dissolved into the air. Pulling out her own wand she cast the patronus charm, focusing on what she wanted to send back.

* * *

 

Miles away, in an average sized house in the suburbs of London, a dark skinned boy packed his clothes into his suitcase. Using magic, of course. Not that he had anything against using hands, he was just lazy. 

Gryffindor banners graced the near empty walls of his bedroom; they were the only items his parents permitted him to hang on his wall besides the family portrait (which featured a smiling Lee and his smiling parents smiling perfectly at everyone and everything), and a photograph Emile had given him for Christmas of her, him, Nathan, and the twins sitting on the top of the Quidditch pitch. 

“Lee! I wanted you packed half an hour ago!” 

Lee sighed as his mother knocked on his door quite loudly. “I’m almost done!”

“You were almost done fifteen minutes ago,” his mother’s voice came from further down the hall. 

Lee couldn’t help but grin. It was hard to hear, but he knew his mother said those words with a smile. She was a strict woman, but she did things out of love. Both Lee’s mother and father wanted him to achieve greatness, but they were also fine with him achieving the average wizard lifestyle. As long as he wasn’t homeless. 

As Lee finished packing his shirts a silver light flew into the room, swirling around him before it formed a sphere of white light that morphed into a large snow leopard. He grinned as Emile’s voice came out of the leopard's mouth.

“Lee. First off I don’t recall promising you I would go on a date with you, you just said you would ask. And we can plan for a reunion sometime later, that’s fine. Have fun in Africa, I might end up going there myself soon so I’ll get back to you. Stay safe, and please don’t die!”

The leopard blinked once at Lee before dissolving into the air, silver particles scattering and separating until they disappeared from sight. 

He leaned against a wall and sighed. She was in trouble, he knew that much from the twins. He just wished she trusted him enough to tell him.

* * *

Emile shivered as she apparated into a somewhat ghetto muggle neighborhood. The houses were darkened and loomed ominously against the darkening sky. A river flowed sluggishly past a beaten up playground.

**Do you know where to go from here?**

**_I think… I think you need to go past those railings._ **

Emile did as she was told, sliding through a gap in the railings and hurrying across the worn road. 

**_I remember this place! Go down that Alley. Good, now let’s go right. No! I meant left._ **

Emile swore to herself as she turned around, tripping over her feet.

**_Sorry._ **

Broken streetlights lined the dark street, some struggling to flicker to life. Emile walked as fast as she could between patches of struggling light and intense darkness. One house she passed was filled with leering men, their eyes narrowing as she power walked by them. 

**_Run, before one of them gets up._ **

At last, under Bartemius’s instruction, Emile hurried up the street named Spinner’s End, over which the towering mill chimney seemed to hover like a giant admonitory finger. Her footsteps echoed on the cobbles as she passed boarded and broken windows, until she reached the very last house, where a dim light glimmered through the curtains in a downstairs room. 

**He lives here?**

**_I know. Super shabby for someone who’s favored so much by the Dark Lord._ **

**But he doesn’t work for the Dark Lord anymore, right?**

**_I’m not so sure about that._ **

**What do you mean?**

**_I don’t understand how the Dark Lord would allow Severus to remain in Dumbledore’s clutches, unpunished._ **

**Well, there’s your answer, isn’t it? Dumbledore. He’s the only wizard the Dark Lord was ever scared of.**

**_That makes sense, but still-_ **

**I trust Snape.**

**_I don’t think you should._ **

Emile grumbled and knocked on the door, looking behind her nervously. Through the corner of her eye she glimpsed a man with long dark hair glide past the window. The door opened a crack, and a sliver of Snape’s sunken face could be seen poking out, his black eyes glittering.

“Miss Gorska, I was wondering when you would show.”

Emile stepped into the house as he opened the door a bit wider, then closed it quickly.

“I’m not late. It’s exactly six o’clock,” Emile said as her eyes flitted around the room. 

She had stepped directly into a small sitting room. The walls were completely covered in books, most of them bound in old black or brown leather; a threadbare sofa, an old armchair, and a rickety table stood grouped together in a pool of dim light cast by a candle-filled lamp hung from the ceiling. It looked a lot like the Professor’s office back at the castle.

Snape gestured towards her, and she sat down in the armchair, surprised at how comfortable it was. 

“If I remember correctly, you prefer green tea,” Snape said as he magically summoned an old kettle and a few tea cups from the kitchen. 

“You remembered correctly,” Emile grinned and took the teacup that floated towards her. “Thank you.”

“So, what seems to be the trouble?” Snape asked quietly.

Emile smiled. She never would have thought that she would miss his nasally voice. “I think that by now you know that I’ll be going out of the country for a while.”

Snape nodded and took a sip of his tea.

“Do you think i’m doing the right thing?” Emile said with a sigh.

Snape set his cup down. “Why would you come to me with a question like this?”

Emile let out a cruel laugh. “You’ve been inside my mind, no one else knows how my mind works, not even me.”

Snape seemed a bit flattered by this response. “I believe you are doing precisely what needs to be done, Mrs. Gorska. The Death Eaters following you will not follow you outside of the country – ”

“How do you know that there are Death Eaters following me?” Emile narrowed her eyes at the professor.

“That information is shared between me and Professor Dumbledore. I know what he knows, and vice versa. It is none of your business – ”

“It damn right is my business. I’m the one being followed,” Emile crossed her arms and raised her chin, attempting to stare down the Professor. 

“And I’m the one putting myself in danger to obtain this information, Miss Gorska, so I suggest you sit tight and accept what knowledge on this subject is offered to you,” Snape said stiffly, picking his tea cup back up.

They sat in silence for a moment, sipping their tea. Emile’s eyes were drawn to the books that covered the walls. Most of them books were on Potions or Defense Against the Dark Arts, but here and there some of the lighter colored books turned out to be on transfiguration or charms. 

“If you would like to you can take one or two,” Snape said with a straight, almost bored expression on his face.

“Oh, thank you,” Emile said with a smile. “Do you have anything on Care of Magical Creatures?”

Snape flicked his wand and three books flew over to Emile. She plucked one of them out of the air. “Fantastic Beasts and Where to find them. I’ve read this one.”

“You ought to take it with you on your trip,” Snape sniffed. “Newt Scamander spent some time in the United States of America. He was familiar with it’s creatures and the MACUSA, which is much for strict when it comes to wizards.”

Emile nodded absentmindedly as she flipped through the book, which was filled with several scribbles here and there in nearly indecipherable handwriting. Emile looked up at Snape, surprised.

“So you’re the person who wrote in the Potions book you let me use!”

Snape’s hollow face was lit momentarily by the ghost of a smile. “Indeed.”

**_I thought so. Didn’t make too much sense that he would let you read a random Potions book._ **

**Where did you hear about the book? No, no I forgot. You can dig through my memories.**

**_Yeah, they gets a bit boring once you begin school in Hogwarts._ **

**Maybe for you.**

“So tell me, how is Bartemius?” Snape interrupted coyly.

“He’s doing alright,” Emile shrugged as Snape refilled her teacup.

“No more weird dreams? Has your sleep pattern returned to normal?”

Emile took a long sip of her tea. “It’s a bit better. But I don’t see what Bartemius has to do with my sleep schedule.”

“You will see when you wish to see, until then it’s better you remain indifferent,” Snape said stiffly as he took another sip of his tea.

They continued talking like that for another hour or so. Snape said he had plans for that evening, so Emile left at around seven thirty pm. Before she did, she enveloped the Professor in a hug; Snape stood stiff and surprised as Emile smiled and let go, disapparating into the night.

The next morning Emile hurriedly transfigured her trunk into a muggle suitcase. She had some difficulty getting the wheels to roll, but Bill came and helped her out with that bit. As he worked on the second wheel he slipped her a roll of parchment.

“Letter from Charlie,” he whispered and Emile nodded in response.

Once she had successfully packed everything she needed (and cast a few charms to make the suitcase lighter than it actually was), she slipped into the bathroom to read the response from Charlie.

_ Dear Emile, _

_ I’d love for you to visit in September. We most likely won’t have what you’re looking for until that time anyways, since one of our dragons has been acting real down recently. We think it’s almost his time to go. _

_ Send me a message the other way when you think you’ll be ready to come over. _

_ Charlie Weasley _

There was a small smile on Emile’s face as she left the bathroom. Everything was going well. When Mr. Ollivander was rescued from the Death Eaters, she could show him just how well she was doing with her wand ingredient store.

**_If he is ever rescued from the Death Eaters._ **

**Thank you, Bartemius.**

**_I liked him. I’m not completely sure why the Dark Lord needs him, but it’s most likely for a good cause._ **

**Nothing the Dark Lord does is for a good cause.**

**_He just wants wizards to regain their position as the dominant race._ **

**I’d like to see a wizard avoid an atomic bomb. Or a tsunami. Or an earthquake. Muggle weapons are stronger than any wizard, and they will only get better. Nature will always be stronger than any wizard.**

**_True, but we have a spell for conjuring birds out of thin air._ **

**Also true.**

“Emile, come now,” Mrs. Weasley poked her head into the living room. “You need a decent breakfast before you leave. I don’t like the sound of that, airplane food.”

So Emile spent her last few hours in Europe eating bacon and kippers and whatever else Mrs. Weasley set out in front of her. Ginny joined them, hair rumpled with one pajama leg hitched over her knee. Tonks stopped by early to escort Emile to the airport.

“Now, remember to send a message through to someone as soon as you land,” Mrs. Weasley was saying fervently.

“As soon as I land am nowhere near a muggle,” Emile grinned.

“Just use the bathroom,” Ginny said with a glint in her eye, causing mousy haired Tonks to laugh.

“Come on Em, we’d better be going,” Tonks said with a smile. “Have the twins said goodbye yet?”

“Yes, I saw them at the shop when we visited yesterday morning,” Emile said as she picked up her trunk and mokeskin pouch.

“Oh,” Tonks gave Emile a look. “I spoke with them last night, and it sounded as if George wanted to come tell you something”

Emile felt her face grow hot.

**_Imagine the possibilities…_ **

**I want to, but I shouldn’t wish.**

**_Don’t be so dramatic._ **

“Well it’s too late now,” she said to Tonks. “Everyone says to be at the terminal early, so we should leave.”

Tonks exchanged a look with Mrs. Weasley that did not go unnoticed by Emile, who was hugging Ginny goodbye.

“I like you, don’t die,” Ginny said with a small smile.

“Don’t worry, Gin,” Emile smiled and punched the fifth year in the shoulder. “I’m a big, tough girl. I can tie my own shoelaces and everything.”

“Do be careful,” Mrs. Weasley whispered into her ear.

“I’ll try,” Emile said with a smile. “It’s not like I go looking for trouble.”

With a smile at the two female Weasleys, Tonks took Emile by the arm and the two of them apparated to an alley in the nearby muggle village. There they stuck out their wands and boarded the knight bus, traveling to the airport in silence since there was too much noise on the bus to have a decent conversation.

Once Emile had checked in with the airline she was flying on and successfully handed over her suitcase, she said farewell to Tonks.

“It’ll be alright,” Emile said as they hugged.

Tonks let out a small laugh. “I’m the older one, I’m supposed to be comforting you.”

“I don’t think I’m the one who needs comforting right now,” Emile said as they pulled away.

By the time Emile had walked through the security check, Tonks was gone, most likely walking to a nearby alleyway to disapparate to wherever she was heading.

* * *

 

Tonks, unbeknownst to Emile, was heading back to the Burrow. She wanted to talk to Molly about everything and nothing; how Emile would do, if she would be wary of the MACUSA, what Tonks ought to do about Remus. 

However, when Tonks arrived at the Burrow she barely had enough to time sit down before George apparated out of thin air, glancing fervently around the kitchen.

“Where is she?” he asked Tonks.

Tonks shook her head, and George let out a sigh, sinking into one of the kitchen chairs.

“She shouldn’t have to leave,” he mumbled after a moment, his voice barely audible.

“I know,” Tonks said quietly, rubbing the ginger businessman’s back. “But perhaps it’s for the best that you didn’t tell her. Maybe then she would have wanted to stay, and that’s a lot more dangerous than leaving.” 

George frowned at the brown haired Auror. She had a point, but still. It was selfish to want someone to stay as badly as he wanted Emile, but he had to think of her safety over what he wanted. Hopefully she would stay away long enough for the Death Eaters to give up their hunt, and then she could come back home to them.

* * *

 

Miles away, Emile’s hands trembled slightly as she boarded the plane that would take her far away from her home and friends. She was unaware of the dilemma poor George was going through, she had her own problems to worry about. George may have been one of them, but she pushed him to the back of her mind in an attempt to focus on the upcoming journey. 


	64. In the Land of the Free

 “Ladies and gentlemen, we are now beginning our descent into JFK International Airport. Please remain seated as the plane descends. You may experience loss of cabin pressure…”

Emile stretched in her seat, shifting the thin blanket provided by the airline on her lap. Her arm grazed the hair of the stout businessman sleeping next to her with his mouth slightly open. He let out a snort but didn’t wake up. 

Emile cracked open the window to the plane and peeked outside. They were passing through some clouds now, so she couldn’t see much besides the choking whiteness that burned her eyes. The brightness caused her to sneeze, and that sneeze woke the slumbering man beside her.

“I’m sorry,” Emile apologized and closed the window.

“No worries,” he said in a thick American accent, yawning widely. “It’s about time I woke up, anyways. And feel free to open the window up, we should be able to see the skyline soon.”

Emile smiled a bit shyly and cracked the window back open just as the plane dropped a bit lower, revealing the crowded streets of New York City. Amongst the grey cement towers, the legendary Central Park stood out like a purple crocus in a snowdrift. Emile grinned as she looked down, squinting and pushing her glasses further up her nose to see if she could identify the carousel her cousin had sent her a picture of one Christmas.

“Ladies and gentleman, we are now landing at the JFK Airport. Please remain seated until the plane has come to a complete stop and remember to check the overhead compartments for any carry on luggage…”

Emile bounced up and down in her seat, hardly paying attention to what the flight attendants were saying over the plane's intercom. It was around four in the afternoon, pretty early. Emile was fully rested and ready to take on the Big Apple. 

As she passed through customs and made her way to the baggage claim she saw a tall, dark haired boy standing near the door, tapping his feet impatiently. 

“Alex!” Emile laughed and ran towards her cousin.

He blinked at her, astonishment in his eyes. “Wow, Emile! Your hair!”

Emile rolled her eyes. “I hoped you would have something more original to say.”

“It’s not every day someone you know dyes their hair bright blue,” Alex smiled as he led her towards the baggage claim. 

“It looks good. I like it,” Emile smiled up at him. 

They met his parents, Emile’s aunt and uncle, outside by the baggage claim. They had just returned from vacation in Mexico, and were thrilled to be back in the city

“Do they really trust you alone in the house?” Emile asked quizzically as they made their way to the car.

“Of course they do,” Alex said with a grin. “And they allow me to have no more than three friends over when they leave.”

Emile shook her head. “Blimey.”

“You sound so British,” Alex guffawed.

“There’s a reason for that,” his mother, Aunt Joann, called into the backseat of the car.

Alex and Emile laughed along with Uncle Jack as they pulled out of the crowded parking lot and into the afternoon traffic. Alex complained to his parents about how long everything was taking while Emile stared out the window, ogling at the sights they passed.

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at a cart along the side of the street.

“That’s obviously a hot dog vendor, can’t you read the sign?” Alex rolled his eyes.

“Ghirardelli's Chocolate!” Emile gushed as they drove by a chocolate shop.

“Oh yeah, that place is great,” Uncle Jack said with a glance out the window. “Fantastic chocolate covered strawberries.”

“Driving on this side of the road keeps messing with my brain,” Emile said as they turned left into an apartment complex.

“Actually I think you’ll find we’re driving on the RIGHT side of the road,” Alex said proudly.

Emile and Aunt Joann stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing.

“I don’t get it?” Uncle Jack called back from the front.

“I’ve been waiting years to use that,” Alex laughed, wiping a tear from his eye.

After they had dropped off their suitcases at their place, a stunning two story apartment set up halfway up the building, the family went out to dinner in Times Square.

“You’ll probably come back here later this week, but I’m hungry and unwilling to cook,” Aunt Joann grinned. “Might as well get fast food.”

“We’ve got to get Schnippers,” Alex said for the third time as they wandered down the crowded square.

“This place looks much better in person than on tv,” Emile grinned as she admired the flashing lights pulling out her camera. “Will you take a picture of me under the large television?”

Alex and his father exchanged amused glances as Emile stood in the square, a grin plastered on her face. As she watched her Aunt take the picture, she realized that she had handed her her wizards camera by accident. 

As soon as the picture came out of the top of the polaroid Emile grabbed both from her aunt, saying that she wanted to put them away before they got stolen. Thankfully her Aunt didn’t notice the smiling Emile in the photo turning around to admire the city lights before turning back around and grinning at the camera.

It wasn’t until that evening when Emile was lying in bed that she realized she hadn’t sent a message to the Weasleys to let them know she was alright. Nervously pulling her wand out from under her pillow, she performed the patronus charm, watching the glimmering silver light shoot through the wall and out over the restless city.

The next day, Emile overslept. Alex let her, claiming he was letting her get used to he time change, but she could see that he’d overslept as well. 

They didn’t leave the apartment until well after noon. Alex had planned a full day of tourist trap visiting.

“I don’t think we ought to visit the Statue of Liberty until your last day here,” Alex said thoughtfully as he led her towards the underground subway.

“Saving the best for last?”

“No, it’ll just be less crowded then,” Alex said with a grin that made Emile laugh.

“Considering the amount of people here, I don’t know what you consider to be, ‘less crowded’,” she chortled.

Alex rolled his eyes and shoved her as they walked down the stairs by the crowded street into the darkness.

“Why are there so many people here?” Emile groaned over the chatter and screech of subway cars.

“Lunch rush!” Alex called back to her.

**_What does that mean?_ **

**It’s not a new word. It’s what they call the time when everyone’s off work for half an hour and scramble to get food.**

**_I know what it means, I just wanted to feel included._ **

**Oh Bartemius. You’ll never be included. I can’t tell him about you.**

**_Why not? You told those Weasels._ **

**They’re magical. They’ll understand.**

The subway sent everyone careening to the left as it slowed down at a narrow turn. Emile felt a familiar tingle rush up her spine as she saw a platform outside the windows.

“Is this where we get off?” She called to Alex, who was standing with his back to her.

“Of course not, there’s nothing here,” He said with a frown.

Emile frowned at the platform as it whisked out of sight.

**_First day and first encounter._ **

**With?**

**_Don’t be so daft. With American Wizards._ **

**But how do you get on there?**

**_Good question. Maybe you can investigate by yourself later._ **

**I don’t want to get lost here.**

**_If you do you can just apparate back to the apartment. Or Times Square. Or some other landmark._ **

“Em?” Alex’s voice brought her back to the present.

“Sorry,” she said with a shake of her head and a small smile. “Still sleeping.”

“It’s cool,” he said with a shrug. “Next stop’s ours.”

Emile lost Alex for a moment as a flood of people stepped off the subway, colliding with the flood of people getting on. Her cousin found her after a moment of floundering and pulled her away towards a glimmering expanse of green.

“Central Park,” He said proudly.

“You knew I wanted to come here, didn’t you,” Emile said with a grin.

“I figured we could go to the zoo and then walk around,” Alex shrugged.

Emile beamed as they crossed a street. “Brilliant. I’ve never been to a zoo.”

Alex’s jaw dropped. “How have you never been to a zoo? We’ve got to go now. It was optional before but now, now it’s mandatory.”

So Emile and Alex spent that day wandering the zoo. The best animals, in Emile’s opinion, where the kiwi birds, fennec foxes, and snow leopards. Alex didn’t understand why she had spent so long admiring the real life fennec foxes, and there was no way she could explain it to him. 

After the zoo they got hotdogs and walked around the park, feeding some ducks parts of their buns, An older lady asked them how long they had been together, much to the amusement of Bartemius, and they enlightened her by talking about their past three years apart. By the time they walked away, hand in hand, Alex could hardly contain his laughter.

“She actually believed it,” He choked out as Emile shoved his hand away.

“It made her so happy,” Emile said with a smile. “Don’t ruin it for her.”

Soon the sun was setting and they were being summoned home by Aunt Joann. On the Subway back Emile couldn’t help but notice the tingling on her spine as they passed the mysterious invisible platform.

The next few days were relatively busy. Alex was determined to show Emile most of New York, and Emile was determined to find out more about the disappearing platform. Bartemius was no help, complaining and lecturing her about safety to no end.

**_All I’m saying is that if you’re trying to hide from wizards it may not be smart to go looking for them._ **

**Bartemius, it’s your fault that I’ve got to hide from wizards in the first place, so shut your yap.**

It wasn’t until Friday that Emile got the chance to investigate the subway. Throughout the week, she had realized that at the end of each train there was a car unknown to muggles. Friday’s crowd permitted Emile with an excuse to board it.

“I know where to get off!” she said to Alex as he was pulled into another car. “I’ll see you on the platform, promise.”

“Don’t get lost!” Alex’s response was almost drowned out by the noise of chattering people and rushing feet.

Emile waved at him before darting into the last car a split second before the doors closed. Trying to ignore the looks she got from the people around her, she sat down in an empty chair behind a group of people her age.

“Hey, stranger,” One girl with short brown hair nodded. “What’s your business here? You going to Ilvermorny?”

“Pardon?” Emile said, feeling a bit flabbergasted.

“Oh, you’re British!” An asian boy with the tip of his dark hair dyed blonde turned and stared at her. “Are you on the run from that noseless man?”

“Show some respect for personal space,” A different girl, with curly black hair, snapped at the boy. “She doesn’t have to tell us anything.”

“You-you guys are wizards,” Emile managed to choke out.

The asian boy snickered along with a blonde hair boy next to him, both of them receiving glares from the short haired brunette.

“We’ve never met a wizard outside of New York,” she said kindly, taking Emile’s hand. 

“Yeah, does the MACUSA Know you’re here?” The asian lad spoke again.

**MACUSA?**

**_It’s the wizard government here._ **

**Oh, alright. Thank you.**

“No, I’m just visiting family,” Emile said with a small smile. “I didn’t know I had to inform the MACUSA of my visit.”

“She reminds me a lot of Shikoba,” The blonde haired boy spoke for the first time.

“Dude, Shikoba was way older,” The curly haired girl laughed.

“And Shikoba didn’t have such beautiful hair,” the brunette gushed and leaned over, petting Emile’s hair. 

“Shikoba Wolfe? The Wandmaker?” Emile asked excitedly, leaning forward in her seat.

“Yeah,” the blonde haired boy looked at her curiously. “I’m surprised a Brit knows of Shikoba, I thought you all were content with Ollivander?”

“I’m surprised an American knows of Ollivander,” Emile teased back, trying to ignore the twinge in her stomach as the teens spoke of her mentor.

“Ollivander may have made good wands, but he didn’t use thunderbird feathers,” the curly haired girl scoffed and crossed her arms.

“Shikoba used thunderbird tail feathers?” Emile stared at the youth. Thunderbirds were legendary for their strength, how had one woman managed to acquire their feathers?

“Yeah, that was her thing,” The asian boy spoke and rolled his eyes. 

“Where’s Shikoba now?” Emile asked eagerly.

The four Americans laughed.

“Only Merlin knows,” The blonde haired male said.

“My mom heard she was in Seattle,” The curly haired girl said thoughtfully.

“Your mom also heard about that sale last week that didn’t exist,” the brunette rolled her eyes.

“Our stops coming up,” the blonde kid stood up and walked over to the door.

“You coming, Brit?” The brunette asked hopefully.

Emile shook her head. “I’ve got to get back to my cousin's place. It was nice meeting you!”

“See ya,” They called as the subway slowed along the familiar curve and the platform came into view.

Emile watched as the car doors slid open and the four wizards jumped onto the platform, applauding the blonde kid as he landed with an impressive roll.

“Shikoba is in Seattle,” a voice by her ear made Emile jump. She turned to see a wiry male, short and incredibly thin with neatly combed brown hair.

“Pardon?” Emile couldn’t help but stare at the stranger.

“Shikoba is in Seattle. If you want her, you’ll need to find her,” the man spoke in a thin, coarse voice.

“Who are you?” Emile whispered, but the man was already turning away and stepping off the train. Realizing with a jolt that this was also her stop, Emile rushed after him, but he had melted into the crowd.

Alex talked a lot as they walked to the apartment, leaving Emile to discuss in silence.

**Thunderbird tail feathers... It’s extraordinary!**

**_Emile, you don’t have time for this, you should be getting home._ **

**I have all the time in the world, no one needs me back home.**

**_I could agree to disagree with that._ **

**It’s safer for me here.**

**_You are in denial._ **

**I could learn so much from Shikoba, Ollivander would be so impressed.**

**_If he lives. Emile, listen to yourself. This is war. It’s not going to be all wine and moonlight._ **

**I never said it was.**

“Emile!” Alex pulled her back as she almost walked into traffic.

“Oh my, I’m sorry!” Emile gasped as he hung onto her arm. “I’m really tired.”

“You seem a lot more tired now, is something bothering you?” Alex asked hesitantly.

“I was just thinking that I might travel a little more before going home,” Emile said carefully.

**No need to say WHERE I’ll be traveling.**

**_Hmpf._ **

**Don’t give me that attitude,**

**_I don’t want you getting hurt._ **

**Because I’m your vessel, yes I know.**

“Well there’s no use planning it if you don’t know where you want to go,” Alex said with an eye roll as they crossed the street. “You think about it. Tomorrow we’re visiting the Statue of Liberty.”

“Tomorrow’s my last day here,” Emile said with a twinge. “I’m going to miss it.”

“You mean, miss me,” Alex winked at her.

“Yes, yes I will.”

That following morning, Alex woke Emile up well after noon, a mistake they both realized as soon as they got to the ferry that took tourists over to the statue. After waiting for two hours on the dock they were finally able to cross, standing on the deck of the boat. Alex laughed as Emile’s hair wouldn’t stop flailing into her face.

The statue was amazing, brilliant hues of faded green blue towering into the sky. And even more surprising, Emile could detect the familiar tingle of magic inside the structure. It didn’t feel very strong, so it must have been an old enchantment.

**Any chance you know something about the Statue of Liberty and Wizards?**

**_Why would you care?_ **

**I care about your opinion.**

**_Hmpf._ **

Emile felt hurt, and her face must have shown as they climbed the final step into the crown of the statue. Alex was giving her a quizzical look.

“Did you stub your toe?” he asked incredulously.

“N-yes,” Emile quickly pretended to wince as her left foot hit the ground. “I misjudged how tall the steps were.”

Alex laughed. “Typical clutzy Emile,” He said, shaking his head. 

“I’m sorry,” Emile said with an eye roll as she walked over to one of the windows, tossing her polaroid to Alex. “Take my picture, will you?”

“Alright, pose,” Alex held the camera up, his finger hovering over the button.

“Well, you can get a bit closer,” Emile laughed and pulled him closer just as he clicked the button. 

“Whoops,” Alex grabbed the photo as it came out of the top of the camera, handing it to Emile. “Let me know if it turns out alright.”

“Emile hid a smile as the wizard's photo faded in, showing what looked like her dragging the camera closer to the skyline. With a grin she tucked the photo into her pouch.

“My mom wanted to buy you a new purse, that one doesn’t seem up to the challenge of serving you,” Alex said with a nod at her mokeskin pouch.

“I like it, it was a gift from my grandfather,” Emile said with a smile.

“It’s a surprise it’s lasted this long. Almost like magic,” Alex said jokingly.

Emile laughed so hard she snorted, drawing the attention of several people around her. Alex had no idea how magical it was. A mokeskin pouch in itself was magical, but this was a mokeskin pouch with an undetectable extension charm and preservation charm. Much stronger than a usual mokeskin pouch and significantly more useful, it was probably the most magical item she owned. Outside of her wand.

After a while up in the air, admiring the view of the city from the crown and complaining about how the balcony on the torch was closed off, Alex and Emile called it a day. They headed down to the ferry boat, Emile deep in thought as she searched for the right way to say what she wanted to say.

“I was thinking of going to Africa for a bit before going back home,” Emile confessed as they stood on the ferry, watching the Statue of Liberty growing smaller as they headed across the water. 

“Really?” Alex gave her a quizzical look. “Why?”

“Service project,” Emile’s heart raced as she made up the first thing that came to her mind.

Alex leaned against the railing, his eyes becoming unfocused. “I have a friend who went off to Africa about a year ago to build fresh water wells. If you want, I could get you in contact with him.”

“Really?” Now it was Emile’s turn to give Alex a quizzical look. 

“You sound so surprised to hear that I have friends,” Alex laughed.

“I always thought you were a cold loner,” Emile teased and earned herself a shove that nearly sent her falling backwards.

“But seriously,” Alex grinned. “I could call Ari tonight-”

“Ari? What, is he in some sort of gang?”

“You British people think you’re so funny,” Alex said with an eye roll. “He’s jewish. His name means lion, I think.”

“Oh, that’s actually pretty cool,” Emile stared at her cousin. “I will be disappointed if he tells me his name does not mean lion.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want to disappoint you,” Alex said with an eye roll.

That evening, as promised, Alex gave his friend a call over the telephone. Emile sat nearby, doodling in her sketchbook as the two caught up. After around twenty five minutes of them discussing the quality of the New York Giants, Emile kicked Alex in the thigh to remind him why he had called in the first place.

Alex swore under his breath and rubbed his leg. “Hey dude, any chance you could house a cousin of mine at your place for a week or so? She want’s to visit- yes, she. Don’t be that way, she’s chill. Dude, she’s my cousin. Yes, the british one.”

Emile leaned over and tried to grab the phone from him.

Alex pushed her away with a laugh. “She wants to talk to you.”

“Thank you,” Emile called as he stood up and left the room.

“No, thank you. I’ve had to pee for the past ten minutes.”

Emile laughed and put the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“I’m still here.”

Emile blinked. The voice was deeper than she had thought it would be.

“Well, um…”

There was a laugh on the other end of the line. “We’ve got several open spots right now since a lot of folks went to visit families for the summer. Just let us know when you think you’ll be here.”

“I was thinking that the last week of August, but if Alex asks tell him I said next week.”

Another laugh. Emile relaxed a bit, Ari had a nice laugh.

“Sure thing, I keep secrets from him all the time. He still doesn’t know that it was me who accidentally broke his mother's vase.”

“Merlin’s beard!” Emile gasped, immediately slamming her hand over her mouth. 

**_Hey, by the way, I’m a witch! Just thought you should know!_ **

**Shut up, Bartemius.**

**_Make me._ **

Emile grumbled and blocked the little devil as best as she could.

“Yeah, we blamed it on the cat,” Ari was saying. “But we’ll be expecting you here within two weeks time then.”

“Where is ‘here’, exactly?”

“Randjesfontein.”

“Blimey, that’s quite a name,” Emile said with a smile.

“You’ll have to take a bus from the airport if you can’t rent a car. The people here speak decent English so they should be able to direct you to our campsite.”

“Alright. Thanks, Ari.”

“No problem, Em. I can’t believe I’m finally meeting Alex’s british cousin.”

Emile smiled. “Did he really make me sound so interesting? Because I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

Ari laughed on the other end of the line. “You’re British, I don’t think you can get more interesting than that.”

The rest of Emile’s final day in New York was spent with her extended family, a movie, and a box of takeout pizza. They had offered to go out to dinner, but her aunt and uncle were tired and Emile still had to finish packing.

The next morning, Alex accompanied Emile to the airport, since his parents were busy working. They took the subway, Emile marveling at the similarities to London’s underground as they rushed through the tunnels at a dizzying speed.

“I hope you visit again soon,” Alex said wistfully as Emile came back from the desk where she had dropped off her baggage and claimed her ticket. 

“I’ll definitely try,” Emile said with a smile as she hugged her cousin, hiding the front of the  plane ticket from him as she did. He didn’t know that she wasn’t going straight to Africa, and she wanted to keep it that way. 

Outside the security check Alex gave Emile one last hug before she went through, getting searched when a metal button on her pants set off the alarm. As she grabbed her shoes and pouch on the other side she turned and waved goodbye to her cousin before walking towards the terminal that would take her to the state of Washington, the last place anyone had seen Shikoba Wolfe.


	65. And the Home of the Brave

By now Emile had gotten used to the buzzing that filled her ears when the plane began its descent. She even found it enjoyable when the plane hit a bit of turbulence. It reminded her of flying on a broom.

Her stomach gave a jolt as she remembered her first time on a broom, back when Oliver Wood still attended Hogwarts and her hair was much longer. She gave her short hair a self conscious twirl, remembering the reason she had to cut it short in the first place.

**Knock knock.**

**_Oh, am I free to speak now?_ **

**You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be held against you.**

**_I hate you._ **

**I know you do.**

**_So, Shikoba Wolfe?_ **

**Yes.**

**_What’s so special about her?_ **

**Her wands are made with Thunderbird tail feathers and are extremely gifted in transfiguration. She went into hiding when an incredibly large demand sprung up for them.**

**_Why?_ **

**That’s a lot of pressure. The wand chooses the wizard, no doubt something went wrong with one of the wands or the publicity became too much pressure.**

There was a jolt as the plane landed on the solid ground, lurching the passengers around their seats. Emile narrowly avoided getting spilled on by a cup of ice water the older woman next to her had been drinking. 

**The sooner I’m off this plane, the better.**

**_Why didn’t you just apparate in the first place?_ **

**You think Alex wouldn’t notice? Besides, I’m not completely sure if it’s legal here to apparate over state lines.**

**_I never thought of that…_ **

**Really?**

**_Shut up._ **

Emile smiled to herself as she disembarked the plane, thanking the flight attendants as she passed by them. Outside the weather was very grim. A thick layer of clouds of varying shades of grey cloaked the sky. It reminded Emile of the weather in England. She felt a pang in her stomach as she thought of her home, but forced herself to push the thought of home away.

**_Do you even have a hotel established?_ **

**I’m sure we can find something. Who goes on vacation in August?**

Turns out that vacations in August were quite popular. Emile had difficulty finding a hotel to stay in near the airport, and was forced to take the taxi to Seattle to continue her search. She found an opening at the Courtyard Marriot, and gladly flung her bag and suitcase onto the floor the moment she entered. 

Emile stretched before collapsing onto the bed, exhausted. She let out a sigh and closed her eyes.

**_We’ve only got this room for five nights._ **

**I know that.**

**_Don’t waste your time, we need to start searching if you intend on finding Shikoba._ **

**Where do I even begin?**

Emile’s eyes caught sight of several brochures next to the television. Standing back up, she grabbed the pile and sat back down on the bed, flipping through the papers in front of her.

**Seattle Must See’s, maybe there’s something here.**

**_Like what, tourist traps?_ **

**Oi. Shut it. We’re going to this, Pike Place Market.**

**_Why would we go to a market_ ** **?**

**I’ve just got a feeling that there might be something there.**

Emile tugged on her high tops and her black trench coat, smiling as she put on the grey beanie and scarf from Cedric.

**_Come on, it isn’t that cold._ **

**It looks like it might start raining.**

Making sure that her wand was in her pocket, Emile traipsed out of the hotel and down the street. It took nearly twenty minutes of walking to get to the market, but inside Emile helped herself to a piping hot cup of coffee from a local coffeeshop known as Starbucks. The hot drink warmed her hands as she wandered around the market, admiring the various restaurants and stands. Everything there reminded her an awful lot of how Diagon Alley used to look. That was, everything except for the flying fish.

Emile ate Dinner at a nearby creperie. The decadent combination of chocolate and strawberries warmed her more than the coffee had. 

**_Where to now?_ **

**Down those stairs.**

**_Sketchy._ **

Emile grinned as she turned the corner, wincing at a sudden tickle along her spine. It felt like a drop of ice cold water was running along her back. 

**_What is this place?_ **

**It’s the Seattle gum wall.**

**_Oh, that is ghastly. And unsanitary. You should get out of here, what if you got Mono?_ **

**Can’t you feel that?**

**_No._ **

**This place has known magic.**

**_Has it? Take out your wand._ **

Emile nervously looked around, slipping her wand inside her sleeve. As soon as the alleyway was emptied of tourists she pulled it out and waved it, eyes narrowing.

**Just as I thought, a preservation spell.**

**_What does it mean?_ **

**You can’t be that stupid, Bartemius. Obviously it means there are wizards here.**

**_Yes, but where?_ **

Emile sighed and looked around the alley. The sun was setting, casting dark shadows along the alleyway. Nearby a pub was opened, and a small theater was surrounded by attendees. 

**_Let’s go back to the hotel._ **

**Yeah, I’m a bit tired.**

The next day, Emile got up after noon. She had missed the continental breakfast so she stopped by the Starbucks for a sandwich and cup of coffee.

**I’m turning into an American. I’m drinking way too much coffee.**

**_Maybe you ought to order tea next time._ **

**Why would I order tea when I can buy some packets and make it myself in the hotel room?**

**_You make a good point._ **

The sun peaked out from behind the cloud filled sky, warming Emile’s jeans for a split second before being swallowed up again. A shiver going up her body, Emile hurried through the streets towards the market. The gum wall was covered in tourists taking pictures and contributing to the attraction. Emile waited near the staircase for over an hour and a half before giving up on examining the wall.

**How will I find the wizards now?**

**_Maybe you should do some research. It’s possible that wizards here could be descendents from the original native american wizards, in which case you should check old houses and known dwellings of tribes._ **

**How do you know all of this?**

**_Wizardry in other countries has always been an interest of mine._ **

**I’m glad it was.**

Throughout the next two days, Emile visited several locations in the Seattle Area, searching for signs of wizards. None of the buildings she visited contained any traces of magic, and though she learned quite a lot on on the Tillicum Village Tour, she did not find what she was looking for. 

It wasn’t until her fourth day in Seattle that Emile heard of the famous Seattle Underground Tours. She didn’t believe that Wizards would ever choose to hide underground, away from nature, but it was worth a shot to check out the tour.

She entered a building on the side of Pioneer Square hesitantly, surprised to see so many people in there.

**A tour group must have just gotten back…**

**_Emile, look at that guy._ **

**What guy?**

**_The one in the corner, by the red curtain._ **

Emile squinted, pushing her glasses further up her nose. Sure enough, a wiry man with neatly parted brown hair was lounging around in a chair next a blood red curtain.

**Isn’t he the guy from the subway, in New York?**

**_I believe so._ **

**Why would he want me to come here? Did Shikoba send him?**

**_Don’t ask me, ask him._ **

Emile approached the man cautiously, wandering around the crowded room and coming up on his right. He payed no attention to her, intently rummaging around in his pocket. He pulled out a silver pocket watch much like her own.

“Nice watch,” she stated bluntly, crossing her arms.

“Nice to see you two again,” he responded bluntly, pocketing the watch and standing up, looking her in the eyes. “We were wondering when you would show up.”

Emile stared at him, unable to look away from his violet eyes. “You were expecting me, how did you know I would come?”

He shrugged. “It was foretold.”

**_Creepy…_ **

“Not really.”

Emile backed away from the man. “This isn’t right, what are you?”

“Let’s not talk here,” was the response she got. “Buy a ticket for the next tour, I’ll see you underground.”

Emile glanced at the ticket booth, where two bored looking teenagers were selling tickets to a family with three crying children. When she turned back to the man, he had disappeared.

**Should I go ahead with this?**

**_You’ve gotten this far. Besides, I would like to know how he can hear me._ **

**Alright then.**

“But Will said there were ghosts in those tunnels, mommy,” a boy sobbed in front of Emile as she waited in line.

“Will was just joking, sweetie,” the mother responded comfortingly, but Emile could see the annoyance in her eyes. “Ghosts aren’t real.”

Soon Emile was amongst a crowd of people following an older tour guide down a staircase into the dank underground.

**It smells awful.**

**_That’s probably sewage._ **

**Ghastly.**

The tour guide took the group through a series of winding tunnels, explaining the history of the Seattle Underground. As he passed a ladder leading up towards the main street he took a moment to explain the death certificates with “Accidental Suicide” written on them. 

“So when a fellow got drunk and fell to his death attempting to climb the ladder back to his home, that’s what they would call Accidental…”

A tug on her arm distracted Emile from the tour, drawing her attention to the man from earlier. Putting his finger to his lips to indicate that she should remain silent, he beckoned her into a nearby tunnel. With one last glance upward through a grimy glass skylight, Emile plunged into the darkness.

“It’s all good to hear about the muggle history of this place, but I figure you would be more interested in the Wizard history,” he said with a grin backwards as he opened a door and led her down another flight of stairs.

“I’m more interested in how you can hear Bartemius, but I wouldn’t mind a history lesson,” Emile responded as she followed the stranger into the dimly lit stairwell. 

“That’s simple, you seem to have lowered your defenses since you left Britain,” the man said with an amused glimmer in his eyes. “Us American’s practice Legilimency too, you know.”

Emile let out a grumble and put up her mental barriers. The man was right, she had been slacking when it came to Occlumency recently. She had simply assumed that she was safe now. 

**_Death Eaters couldn’t possibly imagine that you would be traveling in this dump._ **

**Thank you, Bartemius.**

“When some brainless tory of a muggle started a grease fire in Seattle many many years ago, the wizarding community that lived here was almost exposed,” the man said as they headed down another tunnel. “Since it couldn’t be put out with water, several half-bloods used a duplication spell on a bit of baking soda they had and put out the fire in their area. Unfortunately, this bit of city they saved happened to be in the middle of the inferno, and it did not go unnoticed by muggles. We had to perform Memory Charms on those who had noticed and place a Disillusionment Charm on the area so that it appeared burned.”

“So what, you all have been hiding in the Bubonic Plague ridden Seattle Underground?” Emile asked as they stopped outside a graffiti covered wall.

“Who do you think came up with the Bubonic Plague rumor?” he scoffed and crossed his arms. “We maintain the rumor by telling everyone who comes on the tours that information, and people tend to keep well away. Besides homeless muggles on the upper levels, the Underground is a Wizard only area.”

“How do you keep the muggles from going any lower?” Emile asked curiously as he took a long wand out of his pocket. 

“Muggle Repelling Charms, mostly,” the man shrugged. “Sometimes teenagers get into the lower levels and spray graffiti, but they’ve never managed to get this far.”

**Wow, would you look at that.**

**_What am I looking at?_ **

**The wand, of course.**

Emile felt a familiar darkness cover her eyes as Bartemius stole a glance at the strangers wand.

**Eleven inches, Redwood, and Thunderbird Feather. I’m guessing.**

**_You’re guessing._ **

**I’ve never felt anything like this before; if he personally knows Shikoba then it stands to reason he has a Thunderbird Feather core.**

The man tapped the wall in an intricate pattern, one Emile thought to be much like the one in Diagon Alley. Just like back home, the wall began to roll away, revealing an archway that led onto a crowded underground street. Tall brick buildings lined each side, and bustling wizards filled the streets. Peddlers along the street sold trinkets of all kind, from rare potions ingredients to enchanted jewelry. Luminescent balls floated high above people’s heads, bobbing up and down unlike the the lightbulbs that had lit the muggle part of underground Seattle.

“It looks a lot like Diagon Alley,” Emile said quietly as the man led her down the crowded street.

“Is that the wizard place where you live?” the man asked curiously. “Yes, isn’t that where Ollivander works?”

“Worked. Past tense.”

The man gave Emile a curious look but didn’t ask any more questions. He led Emile through a busy pub and into the back stairs, which served as an entrance to a hotel. They climbed up to the top floor and entered a poorly cared for room. There were stains on the wall of Merlin only knew what, and the place smelled awful.

“Why have you brought me here, of all places?” Emile said as the man walked over to the window, opening it up to let in a breeze that cleared away the smell of mold.

“You were looking for Shikoba,” he said calmly, sitting on the bed.

“And you said you would take me to her, yet she isn’t here.”

The man laughed and pulled out his wand. “Shikoba is much closer than you think.”

Emile watched, jaw slowly dropping, as the man waved his wand and grew shorter, a bit wider, and a more angular face. His skin began to grow darker and his hair grew out until it reached the middle of his back, and as a final touch, he removed a pair of reading glasses from his pocket and placed them on his nose.

“Well – no that isn’t better. Hold on a minute,” he said in a deep voice, eyes crossing as he pointed the wand at his throat.

“Hello, hello, heelloooooo. Much better,” the now woman smirked at Emile and crossed her arms. Though she had grown shorter, she still towered over Emile. Her plump figure filled out the previously baggy pants and shirt she was wearing.

“Yo-you’re Shikoba Wolfe,” Emile stuttered and stared.

The woman nodded.

“You’re Shikoba Wolfe,” Emile put her hands over her face.

“Breathe,” Shikoba instructed, leading Emile to the bed.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Emile asked after a moment.

“What, and have everyone in public be informed where I am?” Shikoba shook her head. “I’ve had enough publicity to last me a lifetime. It’s worst with those wizarding wars breaking out in Europe. Everyone wants to Transfigure themselves and hide.”

“Then why did you search for me?”

“I told you; it was foretold,” Shikoba said with an eye roll.

Emie’s mind was racing. “By who?”

“That isn’t important right now,” Shikoba said with a smirk. 

Emile’s eye scoured the room. In a nearby wastebasket she noticed a crumped roll of parchment, with the name Albus Dumbledore facing towards her. 

“I didn’t know Dumbledore was good at Divination,” Emile crossed her arms and smirked back at Shikoba. 

“He isn’t, dear. Trust me,” she laughed.

So Emile found herself spending the rest of the day with the legendary wand maker Shikoba Wolfe. Shikoba turned out to be a feisty older woman with a lot of wand making knowledge, but only in the skills she wanted.

“I never found a need to learn more then what I needed to,” she said with a shrug. “Thunderbirds are difficult beasts to handle, and the wood I usually use is from the swamps by my home in Louisiana. No one else would dare approach a Thunderbird to get feathers, even if they’re for a wand.”

“But if you use swampwood, then why is your wand Redwood?” Emile asked curiously.

Shikoba shrugged and put her feet up on the small table in the room. “I’ve always like redwood.”

“Wait, did you make that wand for yourself?” 

Shikoba laughed. “Once you know who you are it isn’t that hard to make yourself a wand.”

“It’s finding out who you are that’s the hard bit,” Emile said with a sigh.

“Girl, shut up,” Shikoba snapped. “You’re talking like my drama queen of a mother.”

“Damn, I’m sorry,” Emile felt her face flush. Was she dramatic?

**Am I dramatic?**

**_Incredibly._ **

**Why do I bother asking you?**

**_Because, for some strange reason, you have decided to trust me._ **

“Did Dumbledore tell you about Bartemius, too?” Emile asked with a frown.

“No, figured that bit out on my own,” Shikoba shrugged.

“It’s gettin late,” Emile muttered as she looked down at her pocketwatch.

“You can just apparate to your hotel room,” Shikoba shrugged. “Come with me, we’ll go grab a bite downstairs.”

“In the pub?” Emile asked curiously as Shikoba remade her manly disguise.

“No way, there’s a football game tonight. You’d do good to stay away from there,” Shikoba said with a shudder. “There’s a restaurant down the street with great food. Ever had a Seattle style hot dog?”

Emile shook her head, standing up from the bed.

“Well, you’re free to try whatever you’d like, but I would strongly recommend the Seattle Dogs.”

Emile grinned as she followed the acclaimed wandmaker (in disguise, of course) down the stairs to the underground street. 

**_What do you think of her?_ **

**I like her. Older and sassy.**

**_Be careful._ **

**Bartemius, she’s in contact with Dumbledore. I don’t think she’d be in legion with Death Eaters.**

**_I’m not talking about the Death Eaters. I’m worried about the MACUSA._ **

**Why?**

**_I can’t shake off the feeling that we should have reported to them when we landed in America._ **

**Well, what are they going to do?**

**_They can deport you._ **

**But it’s not like I did anything illegal.**

**_These wizards are incredibly strict. Not checking in could be illegal._ **

“Earth to Emile!” 

Shikoba’s shout brought Emile back to the present. She (he) was standing in front of her, arms crossed. 

“Could you two stop gossiping like a couple of old witches and keep up?” she scoffed.

“Sorry, Shikoba,” Emile gave a sheepish smile. “We were just wondering if I would get in trouble for being here.”

“Of course not. You’re a wizard, aren’t you?” Shikoba rolled her eyes. “As long as you registered with the MACUSA in New York you should be fine.”

“But, I didn’t,” Emile stared at Shikoba in shock. “I didn’t know I had to.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Shikoba said encouragingly. “Just don’t apparate while you’re here. They can trace you that way.”

“Alright, thanks,” Emile smiled. 

**See? Don’t fret.**

**_I fret._ **

Shikoba, in her manly disguise, took Emile to a charming restaurant  in between a bookstore and a hair salon. Emile got a Seattle Hot Dog with a large side of fries while Shikoba got a burger. As it turned out, butterbeer was a bit harder to come by in America, and therefore more expensive. So Emile, under Shikoba’s supervision, tried the Spicy Apple Whiskey. 

“It’s like Fire Whiskey, but so much better,” Emile laughed, enjoying the sweet burning sensation. “My mouth tastes like cinnamon now.”

“Please do not offer me a taste,” Shikoba said with an eye roll. 

“I wasn’t planning to,” Emile rolled her eyes. 

“So listen, I need you to do something for me,” Shikoba leaned over the table. “Can you get me something from California?”

“California?” Emile gave Shikoba an odd look. “What do you need from there?”

Shikobacast nervous glances over her shoulder. “I’m out of redwood. The most powerful redwood tree in America is over there, but I’ve been banned from the state by the muggles.”

“Why can’t you go in your transfigured form?” Emile asked curiously.

Shikoba shuddered. “The MACUSA. They enforce the muggle rules. I don’t want to get sent to jail.”

Emile pat Shikoba’s arm comfortingly. “I’ll do what I can, you’ve been so kind to me. How could I not?”

“Great,” Shikoba wiped her (his) mouth on a napkin and stood up from the table. “Then there’s no time to lose. I do believe your flight leaves in two days."


	66. Sleepless in Seattle

**How do I wind up in these situations?**

**_You let yourself be a doormat. Honestly Em, you’re risking your neck for a few sticks._ **

**Powerful sticks! Those wands she had were amazing, and she said I would have half of the wood. And since when do you call me Em?**

**_I’m just trying it out. Do you really need the wood?_ **

**I want to impress Ollivander with my collection when he’s rescued.**

**_If he’s rescued._ **

**Quit being a pessimist.**

Emile could almost hear Bartemius giving a sigh of exasperation as she looked out the bus window. A slow drizzle was falling as the bus climbed higher and higher into the Californian mountains. Which mountains where they? Good question, she had no idea.

**_Shikoba should just get the wood herself._ **

**She can’t, she explained this to us.**

**_Yeah, and now we’re doing the dirty work._ **

**It’s not my fault the most magical Redwood tree in America just happens to be one of the oldest trees in the world.**

**_You are literally damaging one of nature’s wonders. For a wand._ **

**You’re making me feel bad.**

**_Good. That was my goal._ **

Emile began tapping her foot impatiently. They had been driving nearly sixteen hours with only two stops for the restroom and she desperately needed to go.  The restroom in the back of the bus had been clogged by a small child’s toy not long after they had left the state of Washington.

Sighing, she stared at the passing trees, thinking about Shikoba’s story. The wandmaker hadn’t gone into hiding because of wand requests, she was embarrassed that she could no longer acquire more of her trademark wood. A wood that just happened to be the wood Emile was looking for. Shikoba had been banned from the state of California because officials couldn’t help but notice that she visited the tree quite often, and eventually caught her in the act of sawing branches off of the tree.`

“See, this is why you work with a variety of woods,” Emile had teased. 

Shikoba had grumbled something incomprehensible and glared in response.

Emile found that she really liked Shikoba. Though she could be a bit forward, the wandmaker was encouraging and nice. And an incredibly powerful wizard. The way she could manipulate the art of transfiguration was incredible. She was almost as good as a metamorphmagus, though it was hard to beat Tonks with her usually bright hair. 

A familiar twinge in her gut happened as Emile thought of Tonks and wondered how she was doing with Remus. Hopefully Remus would come around and realize how much he was hurting Tonks, and that he was the reason she was having problems transforming. To hope that Tonks would be back to her bubbly self with her bubblegum pink hair within the next year was extremely wishful thinking, in Emile’s opinion.

“We’ll be arriving at our destination within the next fifteen to twenty minutes,” came the scratchy voice of the bus driver. He was a nice older man named Dan. He was also something of a road rager.

**_Alright but what happens if you get caught stealing wood from the same tree as Shikoba?_ **

**Bartemius.**

**_I just want to point out that if they banned her from a state for that then what will they do to you?_ **

**Bartemius.**

**_This is obviously a big deal, how do you know your plan will work?_ **

**Bartemius if I wasn’t so lonely I would have blocked you by now. We are doing this. You can either complain or be helpful.**

**_Why are you so lonely?_ **

**I miss my friends.**

**_You mean, George._ **

**And Lee. And Fred, to a certain extent.**

The screech of brakes drew Emile’s attention back to the present. Outside a thick fog was shrouding the tall redwood trees. That meant it would be easier for her to go unnoticed when she flew up to gather some branches.

The bus drew to a stop next to a large wooden cabin. Obviously a restaurant was inside, the smell of pancakes and bacon was wafering into the bus even with the windows closed. The kid who had clogged the toilet was sitting in the back, begging her mother for pancakes.

“Excuse me, Driver Dan?” Emile pushed her way towards the front of the bus. “Could you please open the door? Some of us really need to use the restroom.”

“Alright,” Dan huffed and hit a button, causing the door to creak open. “You’ve got two hours till the bus goes back.”

Emile nodded and hopped off the bus, mokeskin pouch swinging at her side. As she followed the smell of food, her stomach growling, she thought of Driver Dan. He had an easy job, drive people here, and then drive people back. He was going to stay here for a few days, so a different driver would be taking the bus and a different group of people back to Washington. 

“Welcome to the Redwood Pancake House, table for one?” A tired looking teen grumbled as Emile rushed into the restaurant.

“Um, yes,” Emile bounced in her spot. “But could I by any chance use the loo first?”

“The loo?” the teen laughed.

“Bathroom.”

The teen jerked his head to the back of the room. “It’s by the kitchen, just follow the signs.”

“Thank you, thank you very much,” Emile gasped before running to the back of the restaurant.

She emerged ten minutes later feeling lighter and hungrier than she had been throughout the whole trip. Shivering, she sat down at a table for two, absentmindedly staring at the empty seat in front of her and sipping a cup of hot chocolate as she waited for her food to arrive.

**_So after Africa, home?_ **

**No, after Africa, Romania, and then home. For a little while.**

**_Just a little while?_ **

**You heard Dumbledore, I shouldn’t stay in one place for too long.**

**_He said for more than a month. You’re moving every other week._ **

**It’s better, we haven’t seen a trace of Death Eaters since the Carrows in Hogsmeade.**

**_Wrong. We haven’t seen any Death Eaters since Snape._ **

**Snape isn’t a Death Eater.**

**_Sure he isn’t._ **

**He’s helping us.**

“Here’s your food, ma’am,” an older lady said without enthusiasm as she placed a stack of pancakes and bacon in front of Emile.

“They look delicious, thank you,” Emile smiled at the woman, who walked away without another word.

**_Rude._ **

**She’s probably tired.**

**_Stop being to nice._ **

**Stop being so mean.**

**_Hey, I’m doing better._ **

**Of course you are.**

Emile grinned and got to eating her pancakes. After she had finished the meal she went out behind the restaurant to continue with the plan. Pulling out her broom, she placed a Disillusionment Charm on herself and the broom. Once it proved to be effective when a group of muggles walked by without noticing her, she climbed onto the roof of the restaurant and took off from there. 

Fog billowed around her and coated her glasses, prompting Emile to cast the Impervius Charm on them in order to see better. Soon enough, she located a tour group and followed them through the winding forest towards General Sherman, the largest Sequoiadendron Giganteum in the world. At least, that was what the tour guide was calling it. Emile hovered over the group for a bit, listening to the guide, a middle aged man, giving trivia facts about the magnificent tree before them. Shrouded in fog, it towered over the group like a giant. 

Once the group talk was finished and the different groups of people gathered around the luminous trunk to take family photos, Emile flew up through the crowded branches towards the top of the tree. She was careful not to rustle any branches, in case it alerted the bowtruckles or the tour guide that someone was up in the air.

The higher she flew, the stronger the wind blew. Emile began to worry as her coat billowed around her that someone would catch sight of the black trenchcoat. But no shouts came from below, and as Emile struggled to hold onto her broom she wondered if it was worth risking her life for a few sticks.

**_You always do this. I warn you not to do something and you go ahead and do it._ **

**I suppose I need to learn for myself. I’m more of a hands on person.**

**_Hands on learner. I bet George could help you learn a thing or two._ **

**You are disgusting.**

Emile leaned forward slightly, bringing the broom to a slightly thicker branch with several forks. She could see a small horde of bowtruckles buzzing around a knot near the trunk of the tree. Pulling her wand out of her coat pocket, Emile pointed it inside her pouch. 

“Accio fairy eggs,” she said aloud, counting on the sound of the wind and creaking timber to drown out her voice. “Accio woodlice.”

The two bags flew into her waiting hand, slightly crumpled frown the weight of all the other objects concealed in her pouch. Emile removed a handful of fairy eggs and a handful of the woodlice, spreading them out along the branch and sitting back, waiting for the bowtruckles to come to her.

Slowly and hesitantly, the tree guardians approached Emile’s offerings. She waited until a large group had gathered around the food before flying a bit higher. Pulling out a small saw from her bag, Emile began to cut through branch after branch. A few bowtruckles noticed, and began buzzing around her angrily, twittering amongst each other. One landed on the end of Emile’s broomstick and began chirping angrily.

“I’m sorry but I need this,” Emile apologized as she tucked a fifth branch into her pouch. 

Once she had managed to cut off twelve branches, an entire horde of bowtruckles had gathered around the witch. Emile slowly began to make her way back to the diner roof, speeding up as a sharp nip on her wrist caused drops of blood to form.

“Stop it,” she hissed at the bowtruckles, who were buzzing behind her.

Emile flinched as another one nipped her ankle, and yet another dug it’s tiny claws into her forearm.

“Get off me!” she stage whispered, swatting the tree guardian off and putting on a burst of speed. 

The fluttering wings behind her sped up at the same time, and the nips and twitters followed her until the parking lot came into view. The largest of the bowtruckles spat once in Emile’s face before flying off, leading the rest of the group back towards the tree. 

Emile swore to herself as she landed behind the diner, lifting the disillusionment charm to the view of her raw and bloodied hands. 

**_This is ridiculous, look at yourself._ **

**But I have so much wood, and it’s so pretty!**

**_Emile, your hands might as well be a raw hunk of meat._ **

**I know. I’m trying to remain optimistic.**

**_Don’t. Optimistic people tend to die._ **

**Oh and pessimists such as yourself tend to end up trapped.**

**_Well, alright then._ **

Emile went into the restaurant bathroom, smirking. The smirk faded as she washed her aching hands, wincing as the warm water send tiny stabs of pain throughout the mauled flesh. Once the water running of of her hands was no longer red, she went into a nearby stall and bandaged her hands as best as she could. Slipping on gloves to cover the bandages, Emile went back out to the bus for the long trip back to Seattle.

She slept most of the way; Emile was exhausted and in pain. The lady next to Emile had noticed her wincing and had offered her a few pain relief pills, which Emile accepted graciously.

Emile awoke when they had arrived the outskirts of the Greater Seattle Area. The beaming sun that had warmed her face had disappeared behind a thick blanket of grey. Some part of her marveled at how even with so much grey the area appeared so very green.

Soon, she was climbing off the dank bus and out onto the heavily paved city. Emile’s feet had fallen asleep on the long ride into town, and she stomped up and down the length of the bus several times to wake them up.

**Shikoba said she would be here.**

**_Mhm._ **

**What if something’s happened to her?**

**_Then that’s what she gets for conspiring with you._ **

**Bartemius, what is the matter with you?**

**_Like you care._ **

Emile frowned to herself. Bartemius was often pessimistic but the way he was acting now was simply immature. If Shikoba was not there then she had to be in the underground. 

Mokeskin pouch slung over her shoulder, Emile trudged through the streets towards Pioneer Square. She used the maps at bus stops to figure out where to go, and after an hour of walking, she managed to find the underground tours. The shop was packed, and the chair in the corner where Shikoba had been waiting stood empty.

“Excuse me?” Emile called as she approached the front desk. “Ticket for one.”

The teenage wizard looked her up and down. “Not you again.”

Emile frowned. “Pardon?”

The wizard beckoned her closer, and she leaned over the counter towards him. 

“You’re the one Shikoba warned me about, aren’t you?” he whispered into her ear. 

Emile gave a tiny nod in response. “I don’t know what you mean by warned-”

“Ma’am I’m going to have to ask you to step behind the counter for a moment,” he said a bit loudly, cutting her off.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to the Seattle Underground tour…” The room slowly began to empty as the gigantic tour group followed their guide down the staircase and into the Underground.

“Thank god they’re gone,” the boy sighed. “Some of those kids were screaming up a storm. Gives you quite a headache.”

“Surely there’s a charm for curing headaches,” Emile said with an eye roll.

“There sure is,” he grinned as her. “You can find it in a charming pub by the Space Needle. I can show you sometime.”

Emile laughed in spite of herself. “Are you trying to flirt with me?”

“Is it working?”

“Not one bit.”

“Fuck.”

Emile smiled. “I’ve got a plane to catch tomorrow morning. It wouldn’t be wise to fly out of country hungover.”

“Especially if you’re going home,” the teenager said as he opened a drawer and pulled out a large key ring.

“What do you mean?” Emile frowned as he spent a large curtain back to reveal a hallway of doors. 

“I can guess from your accent that you hail from England. Heard that some Dark Wizard was giving you all trouble up there.”

“He’s giving us a bit more than trouble,” Emile huffed and crossed her arms. “Don’t your papers report on ongoing dangers in other countries?”

“Unfortunately, they do not,” the teen grinned at Emile. “You’ll find that America can be a self centered country. I try not to get involved in politics; having an opinion is the best way to get killed here.”

Emile couldn’t help but shudder. “Sounds awful.”

The teen said nothing as they paused in front of an old wooden door with a brass keyhole. He shuffled through the gigantic keychain, stopping when he found a rusty brass key with a skull engraved on the end. 

“Shikoba’s right through here,” he said as he unlocked the door. “She’ll explain what happened. I’ve got to get back to my desk.”

“Thank you!” Emile called after the retreating boy before taking a deep breath and pushing open the heavy wooden door.

The moment she entered the dusty room, a shot of yellow light flew out of the shadows, hitting her right in the jaw. Emile felt her whole body freeze up as she crashed to the floor, unmoving.

**Oh lord.**

**_What’s going on?_ **

**Could it be the Death Eaters?**

**_No way._ **

“I didn’t want to do this, but you all left me no choice,” A cold voice drawled from the shadows, echoing around the room.

Emile felt relief flutter throughout her as she recognized the voice. Sure enough, a plump older witch stepped out of the shadows, her hard gaze softening as it fell upon Emile’s frozen body. 

“Em! Oh my dear, I didn’t realize it was you.”

With a wave of her wand Shikoba lifted the Full Body Bind off of Emile and helped her to her feet. 

“What’s all this about?” Emile gasped as Shikoba lead her into the shadows in the back of the room.

Shikoba grumbled something incoherent before leading Emile into another room hidden behind a thick, black curtain. Inside was a trunk which Emile knew contained wand making supplies, woods, and cores, as well as a single coffee table, a campfire, and a sleeping bag and several pillows.

“Tea?” Shikoba asked with a yawn, sitting down over the fire and summoning a tea kettle and two cups. “Here, sit.”

Emile caught the pillow that was tossed at her and sat down on the ground, across from Shikoba Wolfe. The fire flickered in between them, casting shadows over the tired wand makers face.

“You going to tell me what’s going on?” Emile repeated her question.

Shikoba sighed and passed Emile a cup of tea. “The press found me. Again.”

“Oh.”

“Yup.”

“So what, you’re hiding from them?”

Shikoba glared at Emile. “I’m not hiding from anyone, young lady. I’m simply laying low until I can travel again.” She took a sip of her tea. “I might try Alaska. Visit some old friends of mine.”

“Sounds nice,” Emile said a bit enviously. She wished she could stay and travel, see more of America. 

“Don’t you dare consider staying,” Shikoba snapped without looking up from her cup. “You’ve been here long enough. If the MACUSA catch you you could be banned for life.”

“Why on earth are the MACUSA so strict?” Emile snapped. “I didn’t see any wizards guarding General Sherman.”

“General Sherman?” Shikoba’s eyes lit up as Emile mentioned the famed redwood tree that she had stolen wood from. “So you’ve got the goods.”

“Merlin’s Beard, don’t say it like that,” Emile laughed. “You make it sound like a drug deal.”

“Let me see, show me,” Shikoba insisted as Emile reached into her pouch and began pulling out branch after branch of the infamous redwood.

“Happy?” Emile smiled as Shikoba cradled one of the branches.

“I can’t thank you enough,” the witch grinned.

“I get half the wood,” Emile smiled. “That was the deal.”

“Of course, of course,” Shikoba immediately began dividing the two piles, until the amount of sticks in each was equal. “There you are, lass.”

“You kept the thicker sticks to yourself,” Emile’s tease ended with a yawn as she placed the final branches into her pouch. 

“Darling, you ought to go catch a few winks before heading off into the great unknown again,” Shikoba smiled as Emile drained her cup of tea and stood up.

“I don’t know if I can ever thank you enough,” Emile smiled and hugged the wandmaker.

“All I did was convince you to break the law for some wood.”

Emile chuckled. “You helped me realize that even though I want to get back to the people I care about, staying away is the right thing to do.”

“I don’t know if avoiding terrorists and avoiding the fans and paparazzi fall on the same scale here,” Shikoba objected.

Nevertheless, she smiled as she wrapped her arms around Emile and the two hugged.

“Good luck in Africa,” she muttered into Emile’s ear. “You’re going to need it.”

“A bit of faith in me would be nice,” Emile joked back before letting go of the witch and leaving her behind for the last time.

The streets of Seattle were dark and gloomy, with nothing but street lights and flashing store signs illuminating the way back to the hotel. Emile’s breath quickened every time someone’s footsteps fell into sync with her own; her hand tightening around the wand in her pocket. She grabbed a box of chinese take out to eat inside her hotel room. 

**_Shikoba seems a bit paranoid._ **

**I wouldn’t want to be pressured to make things either.**

**_Is she running just from the wizard paparazzi?_ **

**Wizard paparazzi? That sounds fake.**

**_Oh, shut up._ **

Emile grinned to herself and opened the door to her hotel room. Turning on the American television, she kicked off her shoes and sat back on the bed. 

**You know, I miss Hogwarts.**

**_I don’t._ **

**Surely you must have had some friends there.**

**_I did. They all turned out to be Death Eaters. Now they’re either dead or in Azkaban._ **

**You didn’t have any friends that weren’t Death Eaters?**

Silence.

**Bartemius?**

**_No. I didn’t have any friends that weren’t Death Eaters._ **

**I don’t believe you.**

**_Of course you don’t._ **

**You aren’t an evil person, Bartemius. What you did, you did for the attention you never got from your father.**

**_You think I don’t know that? Don’t pretend to understand where I was coming from. You have no idea what it was like. You have no idea what I could be capable of._ **

**I think I have some idea.**

**Bartemius?**

**Bartemius.**

**Don’t ignore me.**

  
  
  
  


**Bartemius?**


	67. It's Time for Africa

It wasn’t exactly pleasant to be on a plane, yet again. The conditions of the various planes varied dramatically depending on the length of the flight and airline. Emile could personally attest that while Air France had great food, Delta had the warmest blankets out of the several airlines she had flown on. This wasn’t saying much, since the blankets were still terrible. She tried to resist the urge to pull some blankets out of her mokeskin pouch, but that action might raise too many questions from the people around her. 

Bartemius was silent. He hadn’t spoken since the previous night. Not even when Emile had discovered Shikoba’s surprise gift.

It had appeared on her hotel nightstand sometime during the night, a slender plastic tube with a note attached to the top and a fancy ribbon decorating the side. After frantically searching for her glasses and wand, Emile had spent several minutes checking to make sure it was not hexed or cursed in any way before gingerly unrolling the roll of parchment.

 

Dear Emile,

Reckoned you’ve earned this. I know it was much more stressful than you let on, going against the government's orders to smuggle illegal wood for a feeble old wandmaker like me. 

Did I tell you that in the Choctaw language, my name means ‘feather’? A bit ironic isn’t it. My mother said herself that she never could have imagined I’d end up hunting thunderbird feathers. She simply prayed that her first daughter would be soft and gentle, a change from her seven unruly sons. 

I want to wish you luck. You’re a great kid, but you can’t run forever. You’ve got to go face whoever you’re scared of eventually. And I hope this helps you when you do.

Warm regards,

Shikoba Wolfe

 

Emile couldn’t help but grin as she thought of the letter. Like Ginny, Shikoba had seven older brothers. And, like Ginny, she wasn’t as sweet as they made her out to be. But Shikoba’s gift was beyond anything Emile could have hoped for.

Sleek and light, measuring nearly a foot in length yet no lighter than a petal. The color of a sky seconds before a storm, dark grey with murky purple, red, and green, and shocks of white throughout. Thunderbird feathers. And a handful of them.

A shock seemed to go through Emile every time her hand came near the precious tube, shivers cascading down her spine. These feathers were mighty powerful, and would no doubt make extremely gifted wands.

Emile was thrown forward as the small plane touched down on a bumpy runway in Johannesburg, South Africa. With a nervous glance at her pocketwatch she came to realize that the bus she was to take to Randjesfontein was scheduled to leave in just a little over half an hour.  

As soon as she got off the plane Emile regretted wearing a long sleeve shirt for the flight. It was extremely thin, and it was also black. Hitching the sleeves up to her elbows, Emile trudged to the terminal to pick up her suitcase. The hot, humid air made Emile feel like she was sitting in an oven; in one of those water baths that one baked crème brûlée in. She was certainly grateful to feel the blast of the air conditioning as she entered the bustling terminal. 

When she managed to track down her suitcase Emile had to run to catch her bus, which she boarded with seconds to spare. The bus was hot and dank, but thankfully there wasn’t many passengers on board. Emile could feel the eyes of several people boring into the back of her head as she sat down by a window, and watched out of the corner of her eye as a little girl pointed at her hair and tugged at her mother's sleeve.

**Who would have thought blue hair would attract so much attention?**

No response came. Emile grumbled and fiddled with the sleeves of her shirt. If Bartemius wanted to be sour than that was fine with her. She didn’t even like him all that much. 

Nevertheless, Emile’s scar began to prick and her eyes began to burn as the large bus entered the freeway.

Randjesfontein was a small town. Emile had been dropped off near the freeway exit, by a gas station and food mart. She immediately regretted not having added straps onto her transfigured suitcase, since the roads were bumpy and she had to walk out of the town to wherever Alex’s friend Ari was staying with his group. 

The bell to the small food mart jingled as Emile traipsed in, forehead shining with sweat. 

“Halo,” A plump woman called from behind the counter where she was chewing gum. 

“Hello,” Emile said nervously, pulling her suitcase closer. “I’m a tourist, I’m afraid I don’t know the language here.”

The woman laughed and waved her hand. “That is alright. Now we all learn to speak English in school. How can I help you?”

“I need to use the washroom,” Emile said with a nervous smile.

“It is in the back,” the lady pointed towards the side of the mart that was not covered in fridges. 

Emile thanked her quickly before locking herself in the small washroom. The walls were covered in graffiti and the toilet flushed a bit slowly. It gave Emile time to hurriedly add some straps onto her suitcase, making some sort of large, bulky backpack on wheels. It wasn’t pretty, but it was good enough.

“You must be here to join the people by Olifantspruit,” the lady called as Emile came out of the washroom with her suitcase in tow.

“I am,” Emile smiled. “I don’t exactly know where it is, but that is where I am heading.”

“I am going home soon. I can drive you to the road,” the lady offered.

“I don’t want to incovenience you,” Emile objected.

The lady smiled and opened her mouth to say something, but paused. She turned towards a clock on the wall and frowned, eyes narrowing as she studied the time. Turning back to Emile, she held up six fingers. “My work ends at this time.”

“Six o’clock,” Emile pulled out her pocket watch. “In five minutes.”

“I go by this road on my drive home,” the girl smiled and pulled out a broom and a set of keys. “It is no problem for me.”

Emile smiled shyly at the girl as she tossed her a broom and dustpan. Together they closed up the shop, locking up the freezers and cleaning the bathrooms. Emile’s new friend was named V. It wasn’t her real name, but when Emile had asked she had laughed and shaken her head, saying that a tourist would have trouble pronouncing it. 

As Emile stood outside by the door, watching V lock up the mini mart, a faded grey pickup truck rumbled into the parking lot, music blasting from inside. A tall girl and guy jumped out of the trunk, laughing and linking their arms together as they ran up to V and began talking excitedly in the local language. Emile stood behind them, listening to V laugh and respond as more people crawled out of the truck. Several of the girls’ hair was braided back in intricate cornrows that Emile couldn’t help but admire..

The guy talking with V noticed her first, and said something to V while looking right at Emile.

“English,” V said with a wicked grin, and her friends exchanged knowing glances as she turned to Emile. “This is my ride, you can put your things in the trunk and ride back there.”

“In the trunk?” Emile’s felt her face drain of color as she imagined all the ways you could hurt yourself.

_ Go on, Bartemius would call you a wimp. If he was present. _

“Do not worry,” the girl who came out first smiled. “We all do it. No one has gotten hurt.”

“Yet,” Emile mumbled to V, who smiled and shook her head. 

She hauled her suitcase into the back of the pickup truck, climbing in herself and tying the trunk into the corner with a rope. V climbed inside the truck while her other friends piled in wherever there was space. 

Soon the truck was rushing down the concrete road, blasting music that shook the air around them as it whirled through their hair. V’s female friend sang along and pulled Emile around the trunk laughing, until she finally found the courage to stand up in the back. The inside of the car cheered as Emile put her hands up and laughed.

“Here you go,” V called out the window as the group pulled over on the road across from a dirt road that led up and over a hill. “You will find the camp on the other side of the lake.”

Emile jumped out of the trunk, her mokeskin pouch swinging from her arm. V’s male friend passed her her suitcase and gave her a small nod. 

“Thank you very much, V” Emile said with a smile. 

The dark skinned girl laughed and waved her away. “It was no problem. Go before sun gets low.”

With a roar of the engine and groan of tires, the truck rushed away from Emile in a cloud of dust. Emile hiked the heavy bag onto her shoulders and began trudging up the slope, one step at a time. 

**I hate this.**

**I hate this.**

**I hate this.**

No answer came.

At first tears had stung Emile’s eyes when she failed to contact her devilish conscious, but now she was angry. She hadn’t blocked him out. What was going on?

At the top of the rise Emile paused to catch her breath, the extra weight on her back restricting her ability to move and breath drastically. Her back ached and she desperately wished she could simply apparate to the camp, or at least levitate her bag. 

In the distance, far across the lake, a circle of large white tents surrounded a campfire. 

**There it is.**

No response.

Bartemius was beginning to piss her off. She could sense his presence, but something was blocking her from him. It was as if a brick wall had been built between them, an incredibly thick wall she couldn't break through.

Emile tripped over her own feet, quickly regaining her balance before she tumbled down the rise and into the lake. 

She squinted across the water and hiked the bag up her back. If Bartemius wanted to ignore her he was welcome to. She had other matters to worry about.

The smell of roasting meat filled the air around the campsite. The closer Emile got, the louder her stomach seemed to growl. She tripped over a rock as she was momentarily distracted by her watering mouth. Swearing, she struggled up to her feet, her knees covered in dust.

“Who’s there?” came a nervous call from inside the tent.

Emile shielded her eyes against the bright light as a muggle flashlight was aimed directly at her.

“Excuse me, ma’am, are you lost?” asked the same voice.

“I hope not,” Emile responded, squinting into the light. “My name is Emile Gorska. I called Ari a few weeks ago, saying that I would visit.”

“Oh, Alex’s cousin.” The light moved away from Emile’s face, revealing a short yet busty feminine figure with oval eyes and short, dark hair. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in and meet the others.”

Emile swallowed nervously. “Others?”

Sure enough, gathered around a campfire were seven other people, eight when the strange girl went over to a male of average height who was laughing with a much older woman. The girl whispered something into his ear and he turned around, eyes lighting up as he spotted Emile.

“She’s here!” he cried, dropping his drink and running around the fire to her, enveloping Emile in a hug. “It’s good to finally meet you.”

“I’m guessing you’re Ari,” Emile choked out as her breath was squeezed out of her. 

“Where are my manners?” Ari let go and took a step back, bowing deeply and taking his baseball cap off with flourish. “I am Ari Zimberoff, your friendly neighborhood Jew.” He put his cap back on with a wink. “Ari means lion, but of course you already knew that.”

“Don’t you flirt with anyone,” called the first girl from where she was seated by the fire, her arms crossed. “You’re officially taken, now.”

Ari rolled his eyes as the rest of the group chuckled. “That stick in the mud over there is my lovable fiance, Ratel.”

Ratel rolled her eyes, but she was grinning as Ari moved Emile around the circle to introduce her to the other people. 

“Here we have Kat, Cameron, Jesus, Sarah, and Carlos.” Each person nodded or waved as Ari called their names. “And last but not least, the leader of our little organization, Dr. Gwen Kaezer.”

The older woman stuck her hand out to shake Emile’s, her eyes straying over Emile’s sky blue hair. “Pleasure,” she said with a smile.

“Likewise,” Emile said with a small smile, her own eyes admiring the older womans tight bun on top of her head. Not a single hair strayed from it, yet there was no stiffened clumps of hair that indicated the usage of hairspray. 

“This camp is where we spend our evenings,” Dr. Gwen explained as Emile slid the backpack off of her aching shoulders, wincing a bit. “During the day some people stay here to help with the veterinary clinic I have set up, and everyone else goes to work on the wells. Everyone is in charge of their own breakfast and lunch, but we always have a joint dinner.” 

She paused to hand Emile a sausage fresh from the fire. “Now that you are here you will be expected to help for the first half of the day. In acknowledgment that you are here to take care of your own business you can have the other half of the day to yourself.”

“I understand,” Emile nodded and took a bit of the sausage. “And thank you, for allowing me to stay here.”

“It was no problem,” Dr. Gwen gave a wry smile. “Please don’t make it one.”

Emile was given an empty tent nearer to the center of the camp. The roof stretched a foot over her head and two oil lamps swung above the army style cot on one side of the tent. 

**Well, it’s much larger than I expected.**

Silence.

**I had expected a tiny green camping tent, this is almost a luxury.**

Silence.

**I know you aren’t there, but thinking to myself helps me process things.**

Silence.

**It’s awful because I know you might still come back to me now, but what if you don’t? What would I be then?**

Silence.

Emile hummed to herself as she unpacked her sleeping bag from her pack, trying her best to ignore the burning she felt behind her eyes. 

**Tomorrow’s a new day.**

Silence.

As she slept she didn’t sense the stirrings deep within her mind. Something down there had awoken. And it was protecting her.


	68. Magic, Madness, and Science

“I don’t know what happened to her, she just started laughing and she hasn’t stopped.”

“How long ago did you find her like this?”

“About an hour ago.”

“Is she in here?”

“Yeah… be careful when you go in…”

“Why? OH sweet mother of mercy! Sarah? What the hell?”

“See? I told you.”

Emile sat up in her cot, listening to the conversation coming from the tent next to her. Two hours ago she had been woken up by a snort that had turned into a muffled giggle, and when she had called for some quiet it had turned into a long burst of laughter. Emile didn’t want to use her wand to cast a charm in case someone came into her tent and wondered why they couldn’t hear the laughter from directly next door, so she had gone and woken up Ratel, who in turn woke up Dr. Gwen.

Sarah was a very sweet girl, short with long brown hair. A classic social butterfly. Though a bit lactose intolerant, there wasn’t anything wrong with her health that would lead to such an extreme laugh attack, if that could even be classified as a health hazard.

“A usual example of a mental breakdown,” the man in the ambulance told them a few hours later. “People from out of country tend to get them, it’s usually because of the heat.”

Emile and Dr. Gwen both gave disbelieving frowns as the crew loaded Sarah into the ambulance, the poor girl laughing as she struggled against her restraints. It seemed unlikely that someone could have such a severe breakdown because of the heat.

“It doesn’t make much sense to me,” Carlos stated as the sleep deprived crew sat down for breakfast. “Sarah hasn’t shown any signs of dehydration or sunstroke the past few months she’s been here.” The rest of the crew murmured their agreement and shrugged slightly.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Cameron said in a frightened tone. “It isn’t like we haven’t had laughing fits before, you know?”

“Oh, you mean how you and Sarah laughed yourselves silly at 2am?” Ratel rolled her eyes at Cameron as he winced. There was a pause, and the room tensed and grew quiet with unspoken worries for their comrade.

Ari slammed his hand on the table and looked up at them all smiling. “Who else needs coffee?” 

Only Ratel’s hand wasn’t raised, but before she could open her mouth, Ari silenced her with a quick kiss. 

“Okay, so coffee and a tea for the lady.” He winked as she shoved him away. “Be right back.” 

A few moans and joking complaints were made as he skipped out of the room, and just like that, the walls of the room relaxed and light conversation began to mill around the room.

**I’d say get a room, but I imagine they already have.**

Again, no reply. Emile looked wistfully at the group of friends, but before she could dwell much more on it, a tap on her shoulder made her turn.

“Well, I’m going to have to go up to the hospital to check on her,” Dr. Gwen stated as she turned to Emile. “You’re coming with me.”

Emile stared at the older woman. “Al-alright.”

Dr. Gwen drove a battered blue Jeep. There was a questionably red stain on the passenger seat, but Emile didn’t complain as she got into the car alongside the driver. The brunette didn’t waste any time with small talk.

“You didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?” she asked pointedly as the battered blue jeep bounced along the dirt road Emile had walked not twelve hours ago. 

“I didn’t pay enough attention in herbology to know enough about plants that drive you insane,” Emile commented absentmindedly, clutching a cup of coffee.

“Herbology?”   
Emile spat out a sip of coffee as she realized what she’d said.

“I —uh—meant botany. Gardening. I took it as a pleasure class in college,” Emile managed to cough out.

Dr. Gwen’s eyes glittered with amusement as she gave Emile a curious look. “You seem a bit young to be going to college, especially in Britain.”

Emile’s mind was racing. “I was a dropout. Left school a year early to begin college classes. Now I’m taking a semester off to travel.”

Dr. Gwen held up a hand. “I’m not judging you, calm down. Herbology is probably what you call it in Great Britain.”

Emile gave a small nod and took a hesitant sip of her coffee as they drove on in silence. Soon they approached the bustling highway, and talking in the open top jeep became impossible. Johannesburg was much less busy now than it had been the previous night. The hospital was quite empty, and Dr. Gwen seemed to be friends with the local doctors, so they were able to get inside to see Sarah quite quickly. 

Much to their surprise, Sarah was sitting upright in bed, her restraints gone. Outside of her window a lone crow sat on the branch of a dead tree, and Sarah smiled as she watched it, absentmindedly sipping something out of a cup.

“Sarah?”

Dr. Gwen’s shocked exclamation caused her to jump slightly as she turned to face them in her hospital bed.

A grin slowly spread across her face. “Dr. Gwen! And the new girl!”

“Emile,” Emile said with a grin as she sat down in one of the chairs by the foot of Sarah’s bed as Dr. Gwen sat next to the girl. “Glad you’re feeling better.”

“Yes, you aren’t the only one,” Sarah laughed. “I don’t know what came over me, I was brushing my hair before going to bed, singing to myself, when all of a sudden I started laughing.”

“You were brushing your hair at three in the morning?” Dr. Gwen gave Sarah a doubtful look. 

Sarah’s face fell and she turned away from the older woman. “I had a nightmare.”

Dr. Gwen gave a knowing “ahh,” and rubbed Sarah’s arm. 

Sarah gave a small shake of her head and looked up as a male nurse walked in. 

“How’s my favorite patient?” He asked with a grin. He was a fairly young man, who looked to be just out of school. Maybe a year or two older than Emile. As she locked eyes with his dark brown, an involuntary shiver went down her spine. 

“I feel great, Nurse Dumi,” Sarah said with a grin.

Nurse Dumi shook a playful finger at Sarah. “Now there young lady, you’d better drink up that tea. The Doctor insists.”

“Dumi, darling,” Dr. Gwen stood up at gave the male nurse a peck on the cheek. “Where is the doctor? I need to speak with him about all of these, laugh attacks.”

“In his office, like always,” Dumi said with a grin. “Remember-”

Dr. Gwen gave a wave of her hands. “Knock three times. Yes, yes, I know.”

Nurse Dumi grinned after Dr. Gwen as she walked out of the room. 

“You need to start pining after younger women,” Sarah said, with a sip of the tea and a meaningful bat of her eyelashes.

“I enjoy leaving all of them to pine after me,” Nurse Dumi winked at the patient and Emile couldn’t help but laugh along with Sarah.

Nurse Dumi began to walk around Sarah, checking her vitals as his patient talked about nothing in particular and sipped on her tea. Emile couldn’t help but notice how oddly lumpy his pockets seemed, even for a nurse’s. She had been in plenty hospitals, and the only people who carried so much around were either very bad nurse’s or wizards. 

When Nurse Dumi asked Sarah to go with him to do some final physical tests, Emile stole a glance at the tea Sarah had been drinking. It wasn’t tea at all.

**Calming Drought? But, that would mean this is a wizard hospital. With muggles. Isn’t there a wizard government around to take care of this?**

Emile could have yelled in frustration as she remembered Bartemius couldn’t, or rather wouldn’t, speak. 

At that moment, Dr. Gwen reentered the room with an older man in tow. He was tall and thin, with with grey hair that shone with stark contrast against his dark skin. He lowered his glasses as he caught sight of Emile, and a shiver ran down her spine as their eyes met.

“Who’s this young woman?” He asked, his voice slow and deep.

“This is Emile, she’s staying with us for a few weeks,” Dr. Gwen smiled kindly at Emile. “And this is Doctor Tichaona.”

“Pleasure,” Emile stated as she stuck her hand out. 

“Likewise,” the man rumbled, shaking her outstretched hand. His hands were ice cold.

Emile scanned the man's pockets as she followed him and Dr. Gwen out of the room and down the hall to where Sarah and Dumi were waiting. Sure enough, the folds of the scrubs he wore weren’t enough to conceal the long stick in one of them. There was one thing left for her to do.

“So, how do you two know each other?” Emile asked as they stepped into a lift. “Did you meet in medical school?”

Dr. Gwen gave an expected laugh. “Oh no no, we met here. I work through a program that partners with the local hospitals. I got my degree in the NYU College of Nursing. And Doctor Tichaona…“

Dr. Gwen frowned and turned to the man next to her. “Where did you go to school, Doc?”

“I went to a boarding school in my youth, and attended university in Johannesburg,” the Doctor responded curtly. 

Emile felt a flicker of triumph as she followed the older people out of the elevator and down the hall. Boarding school was what every witch and wizard said, because it was technically true. But how he came to work in a muggle hospital was what bothered Emile.

“Doc!” Dumi grinned as they entered a well lit room. Sarah was lacing her boots on one side of the room.

“Did I grab the right ones?” Dr. Gwen asked as she walked over to the patient. 

“Yes, these match,” Sarah said with an eye roll.

“Good,” Dr. Gwen laughed. “Because last time I—and you—and Cameron—”

The two girls started laughing, leaving Emile and the doctors to stand there a bit awkwardly. 

“Will you be returning late again tonight?” Doctor Tichaona turned to Dumi as the laughter subsided, but a shared glance between the two of them set them off again.

“Oh dad, stop overreacting,” Dumi grinned with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “I wasn’t home that late.”

“Three in the morning is ‘not that late’?” Doctor Tichaona gave his son an exasperated look before walking over to the two girls to help Dr. Gwen up off the floor.

“They can’t keep it together,” Dumi smirked and walked over next to Emile, taking a stethoscope off from around his neck.

“Should have given them both Calming Drought, huh?” she stated wryly, crossing her arms.

Dumi stuttered and dropped the stethoscope as Dr. Gwen and Sarah came over Doctor Tichaona. 

“Ready to go?” Emile asked the two of them with an innocent smile, avoiding Dumi’s terrified eyes.

“Just about,” Dr. Gwen smiled and tossed Emile the car keys. “Why don’t you go start up the car, we’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Emile grinned before turning to Dumi and the Doctor. “See you two around.”

Dumi’s eyes bored into the back of her head as she waltzed out of the room and up the hall to the elevators. She had Dumi scared. Whatever happened at the camp had been magic related, which meant she could be able to figure it out. But what was it? An exceptionally powerful Cheering Charm? The Imperius Curse? Some type of magical creature?

**But wait, didn’t you bring several books on magical creatures with you?**

**I did!**

**Brilliant!**

Emile smiled aggressively to herself as she hopped into the back of the jeep. Bartemius was gone. She was doomed to rationalizing with herself for the rest of her life. It was weird thinking that that was what everyone else did on a regular basis. She had gotten too used to Bartemius.

Soon the three of them were driving back to the camp with a CD of Queen’s top hits playing through the cars speaker system. The three girls sang on the top of their lungs as they drove through Johannesburg, stopping at a small sandwich shop to pick up lunch for themselves. 

When they got to the camp, which was empty aside from Carlos and Cameron, Emile went to her tent and dug through her transfigured trunk, pulling out Snape’s copy of  _ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _ .

“Not Crup, definitely not a dragon. Erkling? No, no, no,” Emile mumbled to herself as she flipped through the pages of the book. 

“Wait, fwooper?”

Emile’s eyes darted to the top of the page, frantically scanning the paragraph. 

 

_ Fwooper M.O.M. Classification: XXX  _

_ The Fwooper is an African bird with extremely vivid plumage; Fwoopers may be orange, pink, lime green, or yellow. The Fwooper has long been a provider of fancy quills and also lays brilliantly patterned eggs. Though at first enjoyable, Fwooper song will eventually drive the listener to insanity and the Fwooper is consequently sold with a Silencing Charm upon it, which will need monthly reinforcement. Fwooper owners require licences, as the creatures must be handled responsibly.  _

 

Emile shut the book quickly as the entrance to her tent was lifted, and Carlos strode in.

“Can I help you?” Emile asked quickly, covering the title of the book with her hand.

Carlos froze as he noticed her sitting on the cot.

“S-sorry I didn’t realize you were in here- I mean I mixed up the tents.”

“You didn’t realize I was in here?” Emile frowned at the male in front of her. “Where you intending on digging through my stuff?”

Carlos’s face turned red as he stuttered out a “N-n-not at all.”

Emile stood up, throwing the book into the suitcase and zipping it shut. “I already spoke with Dr. Gwen about this. I had nothing to do with the hysteria attack. Did she tell you what the doctor told her?”

“He said it was heatstroke, but—”

“Than it was heatstroke,” Emile straightened up and turned to Carlos. “Please, believe me when I say I have no idea how to willingly induce hysteria onto someone.”

Carlos gave Emile a doubtful look, but was interrupted when Dr. Gwen came into the tent, a piece of paper in her hand. She paused by the entrance when she noticed the two people inside, Emile glaring at a frightened Carlos.

“It wasn’t her,” she stated bluntly to Carlos, who turned a brighter shade of red and mumbled something incoherent before exiting the tent. 

“He isn’t the only one who’s a bit suspicious,” Dr. Gwen said kindly as she came up to Emile, who had her arms crossed. “Here.”

Emile looked at the piece of paper in her hand. “Is that an eviction notice?”

Dr. Gwen let out a laugh. “No, no. This is from Nurse Dumi.”

“Brilliant,” Emile said, taking the piece of paper from Dr. Gwen. “Does he want to blame me for this too?”

Dr. Gwen shrugged. “I didn’t read it. It was for you, not me.”

With that the older woman exited the tent, her flawless brown bun shining in the midday sun. Emile was left to open the note, roughly scrawled on a sheet of lined paper. 

 

_ Allow me to explain. Meet me by the gas station and mini mart at eleven this evening. Come alone. _

 

**Sketchy.**

No response, but Emile unfortunately felt as if she was getting used to that. It was too soon. She couldn’t get used to Bartemius not being around, what if he came back? It would be just like him to fake being gone for several months or even years just to come back later.

Nonetheless, that evening, Emile found herself getting a ride from Ari and Ratel, who were going into Johannesburg for a date. Ari took the groups’ rented pickup, and Emile sat in the very back as they pulled up outside the familiar gas station that V worked at.

“Don’t get raped!” Ari called cheerfully as Emile jumped down from the back.

“Ari, that is NOT something to be joked about!” Ratel lectured her fiance, punching him in the arm for good measure before turning to Emile. “We’ll be back for you at roughly one in the morning.”

“I think I can find my way back, but thank you anyways, Ratel,” Emile said with a small smile.

Ratel looked like she was about to say something before getting interrupted by her fiance.

“Good, because it would have been one thirty, at the pace she eats at,” Ari grinned, flinching away as his fiance raised her hand threateningly. 

“Remember that you love me when you hate me!” he yelled as she brought her hand down hard against his thigh.

“I’ll be fine,” Emile smiled, hand brushing against the familiar wand in her pocket. “You two have fun. But not too much fun.”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Ari’s yell echoed back as the two sped away into the fading dusk. Emile pulled out her silver pocket watch, flipping it open with a flick of her wrist. She had nine more minutes. 

Sitting down in the shadows by the mini mart entrance, Emile pulled out  _ Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them _ and continued her research. Most of the animals in here were native to Europe, and the fwooper still seemed the most likely of the native african animals. It certainly wasn’t a nudu, which spread disease in its wake and could kill off entire villages. And it couldn’t be a runespoor: the three headed snake that had its personal animal reserve nowhere near here.

“What are you?” she muttered out loud, flipping through the book anxiously.

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out already,” came a voice from the shadows around her.

Emile sat up straight, clutching her pouch in one hand and her wand in the other. 

“You seemed to figure out that we were wizards quickly enough,” the voice continued.

Emile stood up and walked into the light of a lamppost, squinting into the shadows.

“Is that a wand? How primitive,” came a different voice. 

“You didn’t say anyone else would be here,” Emile said calmly, lifting her wand into the air. “Lumos Maxima!”

The light shot up and over the mini mart, revealing the figures of Dumi and his father sitting on the roof.

“That’s cheating,” Dumi complained, but he had a lighthearted smile on his face as he jumped down from the roof onto a dumpster and then onto the pavement, his father following behind him.

“Just because we do not own wands does not mean it is considered cheating,” Doctor Tichaona said bluntly to his son.

“How can you not own a wand?” Emile asked, crossing her arms without loosening her grip on her wand.

“Like this,” the Doctor said calmly, waving his hand through the air. Emile gave a small cry as her wand was pulled out of her hands by an invisible force, and caught by the cold hands of Doctor Tichaona.

“Give it back!” Emile cried out, panic coursing through her as she ran over to the tall man, jumping for her wand. Dumi grabbed her by the arm and held her back as his father inspected it.

“Thirteen Inch, Phoenix feather core, slightly springy flexible,” he said as he ran his hand over her wand, observing it from all angles before reaching into his pocket and tossing something to Emile. “What can you tell me about this?”

Emile looked down at the dark wand in her hand, bending it slightly and looking it over from all angles. “Ten inch, sturdy, black walnut-”

“I don’t care about the wood, give me the core,” the Doctor’s eyes grew dark as his temper flared.

“Dad,” Dumi put his hand on his father's arm as he spoke in a low voice.

“The wood is just as important as the core,” Emile said quietly. “I’m studying wandlore, I would know.”

The two males looked at her oddly as she lifted up the wand, staring into its core from the bottom.

“I, I’m not sure. But I think it could be a feather of some kind.”

“It is fwooper feather,” Doctor Tichaona said darkly, taking the wand from her and giving her back her own.

“Thank you,” Emile said quietly, tucking her own wand into her pouch where she knew they wouldn’t be able to get it.

“Aren’t you going to ask how we got ahold of a rare fwooper feather wand?” Dumi pressed after a moment of silence.

“I don’t want to get involved—” Emile began, but was interrupted by Doctor Tichaona as he put his fingers to his lips.

“Come, we can talk more at home,” he said in his deep voice.

“Good idea,” said Dumi with a smile.

“I’m not going to a stranger's home,” Emile objected, backing away from the two of them.

“Too late,” Dumi chirped, tucking his arm around Emile and turning where he stood.

Fear of splinching was the only thing that kept Emile from struggling as the two of them apparated into a well lit kitchen. Doctor Tichaona was already there, brewing a pot of tea by the stove.

“This is kidnapping!” Emile yelled, breaking out of Dumi’s grasp and running out of the kitchen.

“Get back here, silly girl,” Doctor Tichaona’s deep voice startled Emile as she stopped in her tracks, and an invisible force pulled her back into the kitchen and seated her in a stool by the counter.

“Dad, you’re scaring her,” Dumi snapped, putting an arm around Emile’s shoulders. She flinched away from him.

“What do you want with me?” she asked miserably as the Doctor handed her a hot mug of tea.

“We want your help,” the Doctor said calmly. “Your friend wasn’t the first laugh attack in these parts, and I don’t think she’ll be the last.”

Emile pulled her book back out of her pouch. “But it say’s here, ‘the Fwooper is consequently sold with a Silencing Charm upon it, which will need monthly reinforcement. Fwooper owners require licences, as the creatures must be handled responsibly.’”

Dumi smiled at her. “Yes, well, just like in other countries, there wizards have black markets too.”

“But it should be common knowledge to keep a silencing charm on a fwooper,” Emile said exasperatedly, slamming the book shut and tucking it back inside her bag. “Unless someone’s intention was to be an asshole.”

“We were assigned to this hospital after the first three cases, and they’ve just gotten more frequent,” Doctor Tichaona pulled a chart out of cabinet and placed it in front of Emile. “A lot of these people were found near the Olifantspruit.”

“The lake by the camp I’m at?” Emile asked curiously.

Dumi shook his head. “No, the Olifantspruit is a tributary that joins the Nil River. It simply pools up near your campsite into a lake.”

Emile nodded as a map was placed in front of her, marking the spots which the victims were found. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Dumi said with a grin.

“How is your English so good?”

Dumi let out a laugh. “Everyone here speaks good English. I also took a year off after school to live in England. My father took English in school and uses it often during his work.”

Emile nodded before turning to the Doctor. “And what do you expect me to do about this?”

“You are staying by the Olifantspruit, you can watch for anything suspicious,” Doctor Tichaona said calmly, taking a sip of his tea.

Emile stared from the chart, to the map, and back again. There was a substantial increase in these spontaneous heat strokes within the past two weeks. And she couldn’t just leave them to do this now that she was aware of what was going on.

“I can keep a lookout,” Emile mumbled before taking a sip of her tea.

“Brilliant,” Dumi beamed. “We’ll need a way to communicate. Can you cast a patronus charm?”

“What kind of a question is that?” Emile scoffed, smirking and crossing her arms.

Dumi nodded. “And you know how to send messages through them?”

“Of course,” Emile grinned.

“Wait.”

The Doctor’s call caused both Dumi and Emile to turn. 

Doctor Tichaona grabbed hold of Emile’s right arm. “Is it alright if you roll up your sleeve?”

Emile did so, hesitantly, to reveal her pale skin.

“See dad? She’s good,” Dumi grinned at his father.

“Oh, you were making sure I wasn’t a Death Eater,” Emile smiled, almost laughing. A small part of her was, though it wasn’t a part worth mentioning.

“It’s best to be sure,” the Doctor said, standing up as Emile finished her cup of tea. “Come, it will be best to take you to back to the camp.”

“Not yet,” Emile objected. “You still haven’t told me about that wand, and how you can do magic without wands.”

“Magic originated here,” Dumi said with a smile. “Just like people. The wand is a European tool. We do use wands in school, but many of us find it easier to use our hands.”

“The wand was found in this house when we moved in,” the Doctor said as he sat back down. “I don’t know who made it, or how they did it.”

Emile peered outside the window. “Well, you’ve got a black walnut tree right there. But the fwooper feather core seems like a very odd one to put in a dark wand. Do you mind if I see it for a second?”

Doctor Tichaona hesitantly reached into his pocket and produced the wand, passing it to Dumi, who passed it to Emile. She took the wand in her hand, feeling the unfamiliar buzz coarse through her arm as she gave it a testing wave with her arm.

“Lumos.”

A bang like a gun filled the air as a blindingly white light filled the room. Emile dropped the wand on the floor, covering her eyes with her hands. As soon as the wand hit the floor, the light vanished.

“That wand is incredibly unstable,” Emile gasped once everyone had regained their composure. “Cast the wrong spell with that and you could die. What happened to the previous owner of the house?”

The two men shrugged. Doctor Tichaona gingerly picked up the wand from the floor and placed it back in his pocket.

“I could stabilize that for you,” Emile offered as Dumi linked arms with her. “I mean, I probably could. Or my mentor, Ollivander.”

“Your mentor is a dead man.”

Emile said nothing as Dumi apparated with her outside of the camp, nearby where the group parked the cars.

“Thanks,” she mumbled before turning to the camp.

“Let me walk you in,” Dumi offered as she took a few steps away from him. “I want to see Dr. Gwen.”

“You really do need to find a younger woman,” Emile said with an eye roll, but she couldn’t keep from grinning.

“Isn’t there usually a few more cars?” Dumi inquired as they approached the outer ring of tents.

“Ari and Ratel went on a date.”

“Ratel?”

“You know, his fiance.”

“Oh! Yeah her. Wasn’t her name—”

“What are you two doing out here?”

Emile and Dumi whipped around at the sound of Carlos’s voice. Emile took note of how Dumi’s hands were lifted slightly, and his fingers were spread apart.

“Carlos, it’s just you,” Emile breathed. “I was on my way back to the tent, and-”

“What were you doing out here, with  _ him _ ?” Carlos asked accusingly. “Wait, the others should hear this too. Come with me.”

“Always nice to have a warm welcome,” Emile said with an exasperated sigh. “Come on.”

“She was off with  _ him _ ,” Carlos reported to Cameron as Emile and Dumi got near to where the group was sitting by the campfire.

Sarah was the first to say anything. “So, what? He’s alright. What’s up, Dumi?”

Dumi winked in her direction. “I’m dandy, Sarah. And good evening to you, Dr. Gwen.”

“Hello, Dumi,” Dr. Gwen said with a hint of a smile.

“What were you two doing?” Cameron said a bit suspiciously, frowning at the two of them.

“Well,” Emile looked at Dumi as he opened his mouth, sending a glare that told him to stay quiet. “Doctor Tichaona and Dumi were suspicious about my visit just like the lot of you, so they took me in for questioning. But when they found nothing, Dumi came along with me to personally tell you all that I’m innocent.”

“She’s too dumb to know how to willingly induce hysteria upon someone,” Dumi said bluntly, earning himself a laugh from the group and a shove from Emile.

The people around the fire relaxed after that, Cameron even made Emile a smore. Carlos remained distant, and didn’t apologize for the accusations he had insinuated through his actions.

“Well, I’m off to bed,” Emile yawned once her pocketwatch showed two in the morning. “Dumi, a word?”

“Sure thing.”

Emile pulled the man into her tent for a second, where she dropped her pouch onto her cot before turning to him. “Listen, I want you to teach me how to do wandless magic.”

Dumi grinned at her. “How exciting. Shall we do it here?”

“No, are you crazy? This lot is made up of muggles,” Emile snapped. “Tomorrow, when do you get off? Or maybe you could pop in during your lunch break?”

“That sounds good,” Dumi grinned. “Or—you never know—you might pop in to see me.”

Turning on his heel and waltzing out of the tent, Emile heard her new acquaintance calling out. 

“Hey Dr. Gwen, you going to bed yet?”

“No, I won’t go until I know the two lovebirds are back from their date and the rental car is fine.”

“Then you won’t mind if I stay with you a bit, I’m guessing.”

Emile grinned and changed into pajamas, falling into the creaky cot with a sigh. It had been a long day after such a short night. If only that night hadn’t ended up shorter.


	69. The Little Fwooper That Could

This time it wasn’t the laughter that woke Emile up, but the distant screech of ambulance sirens. 

“What’s going on?” She managed to yawn to Carlos as she stumbled out of the tent in nothing but a tanktop and her flannel pajama bottoms.

“You tell me,” he growled, glaring at her before running over to where Cameron was waiting with Dr. Gwen’s jeep.

**What’s gotten into him?**

**_I have no idea._ **

**Hmm.**

Emile walked over to Sarah’s tent, sweeping the flap aside to reveal the tired brown haired girl lacing her boots over her pajama pants.

“What happened?” Emile asked as Sarah looked up, startled.

“Oh, it’s just you,” she breathed, quickly regaining her composure. “Well, they found the two lovebirds unconscious in the rental truck, parked just on the other side of the lake.”

“Unconscious?” Emile frowned at Sarah. “And what’s the cause of this development?”

Sarah managed to crack a smile. “You sound so British. Apparently it was something to do with the car and the fumes, it was running as they were parked.”

“Oh,” was all Emile managed the come up with in response. Would going unconscious be considered a sign of a fwooper attack?

A ringing from Sarah’s nightstand caused Emile to jump.

“What is that?” she gasped as Sarah picked up a lump of metal.

“My mobile phone?” Sarah gave Emile an odd look. “Don’t you have one?”

“Not yet,” Emile admitted, unwilling to go as far as admitting she hadn’t know mobile phone’s existed. “Who’s calling?”

“Dr. Gwen,” Sara grinned before picking up the phone. “Sarah speaking. Yes, she’s awake. Just woke up. They do? Why? Alright, should I bring her? Well gosh, sorry for asking. Alright. Yes. Don’t rush me!”

Sarah hung up and turned back to Emile.

“Nurse Dumi and Doctor Tichaona want you to come to the hospital as soon as possible.”

“Me?” Emile groaned, putting her hand on her head. “On so little sleep, I don’t think I’ll be much help.”

“We’ll stop by for coffee on the way there,” Sarah concluded, pulling Emile towards the last car there, another pickup truck, but much larger and newer than the previous one. 

Emile ran into her tent, grabbed her mokeskin pouch, and ran back out to where an impatient Sarah was waiting with the car running. As promised, the truck stopped at a small family owned coffee drive through for the strongest coffee Emile had ever had. The entire car ride Sarah had  _ Queen _ blasting over the car’s stereo system. Emile felt as if she would explode if she heard “Bohemian Rhapsody” one more time.

It was on the car ride there that Emile realized something. 

**Bartemius?**

**Please come back, you responded earlier. I swear you did.**

**Damnit Bartemius.**

“We’re here!” Sarah chirped as they pulled up outside the unfortunately familiar hospital door. Dr. Gwen was pacing outside with Carlos.

“We brought coffee!” Sarah chirped, handing out latte’s from the tray they had brought.

“And her,” Carlos grumbled with a glare at Emile.

“It’s NOT her fault,” the two females responded while glaring at Carlos. Sarah took back the latte she had handed him seconds ago, chugging the entire thing as he stared with a shocked expression on his face.

“Buy your own coffee,” Sarah said with a smirk, tossing the empty coffee cup behind her. It flawlessly landed inside the trashcan.

Emile tried not to laugh as she followed Sarah and Dr. Gwen inside the hospital, leaving a fuming Carlos outside as an ambulance pulled up.

“Emile! Sarah!” Dumi grinned from the hallway as they entered. “And last but definitely not least, Dr. Gwen!”

A thick haired brunette who looked as if he’d slept even less than Emile stepped out of the nurses lounge, nursing a cup of coffee that fogged up his glasses.

“Oh, it’s you,” he grunted as Dumi paused next to him.

“Nice to see you too,  _ Marshall _ ,” Sarah grumbled and crossed her arms.

Marshall glared at Sarah before turning to Dr. Gwen. “I suppose you’re here to see Ari and Branwen.”

“Branwen?” Emile looked at Sarah quizzically.

“Yeah, Branwen,” Sarah stared back with an equally confused expression. “You know, Ari’s fiance?”

Emile stared at Sarah, her shock growing. “Her name’s Branwen?”

Sarah cracked a smile. “You didn’t honestly think her name was Ratel, did you?”

“I did think it was a bit weird,” Emile admitted, her face growing hot.

“Oh honey, you are adorable when you blush,” Dumi’s comment and follow up wink caused Emile to turn even more red.

“Don’t suppose Carlos came with you, did he?” Marshall’s face showed a flicker of excitement as he followed the group down the hall.

“He’s outside pouting,” Sarah said with a grin. 

“He could use some, ah, cheering up,” Dr. Gwen suggested with a gentle smirk.

Marshall scoffed, “Yeah, whatever,” before turning around and rushing down the hall.

Sarah and Dr. Gwen exchanged amused smiles as Dumi and Emile exchanged confused ones.

“Well, here we are.”

Dumi pushed open a hospital room, revealing two hospital beds pushed up against the wall. There lay Ari and Branwen, both hooked up to various machines that tracked their heart rate and breathing.

“We’re waiting for them to wake up before checking for any —ah—reocurring symptoms recent patients showed,” Dumi explained rapidly as he walked over to Ari’s bed, taking note of some sort of reading.

“Well, Branwen’s awake,” Sarah said a bit confused as she walked over to the bed.

“Careful!” Dr. Gwen called, as Sarah leaned over her friend’s bed, looking her in the eyes. 

“Branwen?”

“Who can say where the true name lies, when we all wear personalities as a disguise,” Branwen sighed, staring at the ceiling tiles.

“Pardon?” Dr. Gwen, stared at the short female, frowning deeply.

“He’s awake!” Dumi yelped, hitting a button on the side of Ari’s bed as the male sat up, staring over at his fiance.

“Are you the one, how would I know? The girl I once loved left me to grow,” he sighed in return, a tear trickling down his face.

“What the hell,” Emile whispered to Sarah, who looked as if she was having an existential crisis.

“His ex thought he was incredibly childish,” Cameron, who had entered the room with a muffin in his hand, stated in a whisper.

“Once loved, twice loved, but third time’s a charm,” Branwen chirped in response, glancing at her fiance.

“Why must the third be you, one who causes me emotional harm,” Ari scoffed in response.

“Both of you, shut up,” Dr. Gwen snapped as Branwen drew in a sharp breath and attempted to clamber out of bed.

“Stop her!” yelled Dumi, who was attempting to restrain Ari. 

A second later Dr. Tichaona was inside the room, a pair of needles in his hands. He tossed one to Dr. Gwen, who turned to Ari as he sped over to Branwen.

“What is that?” Emile gasped as Dr. Tichaona injected the contents of the syringe into Branwens arm. 

“Sedative,” he said without a trace of emotion as Branwen let out a long sigh and relaxed in Sarah and Emile’s grip.

They helped the two patients back into their beds, Dumi tying restraints around their arms as the others exited the room.

“Dumi, take them to the lounge,” Dr. Tichaona ordered, grabbing hold of Emile’s arm. “Emile, will you accompany to retrieve some files.”

“Not like I have much of a choice,” Emile muttered as the other followed Dumi down the hall.

“You could pretend to be a bit more interested in this,” Dr. Tichaona snapped as they walked over to his office. “Why are these attacks happening at your campsite? What were you doing?”

“Um, sleeping?” Emile snapped as the Doctor knocked on his door seven times.

“Well, try not to sleep till this is all sorted out,” he snapped, opening the door to his office.

Emile stepped inside, surprised to find the office full of brewing potions and magical objects.

“You have to knock seven times to access the magical bit of my office,” he explain, a small burst of pride showing on his old face.

“How oddly specific,” Emile responded, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how impressed she was. 

“So now, I want you to do a stakeout tonight,” Dr. Tichaona wasted no time with idle chit chat as he pulled out several files from one of his drawers. “Perhaps you can catch this creature before anyone else gets hurt.”

“Well, you can fix them so they aren’t really hurt,” Emile said hopefully.

“These two were exposed to the fwoopers singing for longer than your usual patient,” Dr. Tichaona cautioned. “I will need to brew a special potion for them.”

“How long should that take?” Emile asked with a wince. 

“They will be ready to return tomorrow morning,” Dr. Tichaona responded, pulling various boxes and vials down from his shelves.

“You can’t possibly expect me not to fall asleep,” Emile objected as she followed the Doctor across the room.

He sighed and pulled something out of his pocket, tossing it through the air to her.

“The wand?” Emile looked at him, confused.

“You said you could stabilize it,” he stated.

“I can try,” Emile looked at him curiously. “I might have a hippogriff feather or two I could use.”

“Then you should have no trouble attempting not to fall asleep,” Dr. Tichaona said bluntly as he began stirring a powder into one of the cauldrons.

“And what do you expect me to do about the fwooper?” Emile demanded, sitting down on a crowded desk in the corner.

“Stun it, place a silencing charm on it, and bring it to me.”

~*~

“And he wants you to do this alone?”

Emile and Dumi were in the nurses lounge. The door was locked, and Emile had successfully managed to levitate the entire sofa around the room without her wand. 

“I guess so,” Emile shrugged. “It shouldn’t be too hard.”

Dumi sat silent, chewing on his lip. “You don’t suppose he could be the one behind these attacks, do you?”

“Dumi, whatever makes you say that? And about your own father?”

Dumi shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I didn’t want to say anything, but he was a bit upset about the whole setup Dr. Gwen has there. He thinks she’s stealing the hospital's patients.”

Emile frowned. “But Dr. Gwen mainly looks after animals.”

“Have you seen her looking after any animals in the two nights you’ve been here?” Dumi asked pointedly. 

Emile stared at him, confused. Sure Dr. Tichaona seemed like a suspicious character, but that didn’t mean he’d do this on purpose. Besides, he was only a temporary doctor. He had been sent here after the fwooper attacks had started.

Nonetheless, Dumi’s suspicions stayed with Emile as she went about her day. When she took an afternoon nap, her dreams were full of leering shadows and orange flashes that came to finish her off once and for all.

Emile woke up with a start as Carlos woke her up for dinner, sitting in her cot for a few moments as she slowly woke up.

**_You doing alright?_ **

**Bartemius?**

**_Yeah, me._ **

**Forget about me, how are you?**

**_I don’t know how long I’ll be able to talk. But dear lord, the last few weeks have been absolute torture._ **

**What is going on with you?**

**_I’ve been in sort of a state of shock; reviewing and evaluating my entire life choices until now._ **

**Really?**

**_Yes, really. And I’ve decided there’s something I should probably tell you._ **

**I’m listening.**

**_Wel-_ **

**Bartemius?**

**God damnit Bartemius. I guess we have no choice but to talk later.**

“Emile, you are missing out on my brilliant macaroni and cheese,” Sarah called from the common area, her voice barely distinguishable inside the tent.

With a sigh, Emile stood up and walked over to where the group was eating dinner. Well, the group minus the hospitalized lovers. The lack of the usually cheery couple was blatantly obvious to the group. Sarah had turned up the radio unusually loud and Cameron and Dr. Gwen filled the silence with endless babble. Emile looked over the now smaller group, realizing someone else was missing.

“Where’s Carlos?” Emile asked as she passed her paper plate down the table.

“He went out with Marshall,” Sarah said with a wicked grin.

“They went to that bar that serves unbelievably delicious American chili dogs,” Cameron stated enviously.

“Sounds—er—delicious,” Emile said with a suppressed wince. Chili dogs had always been a bit too much for her; her stomach didn’t agree with the beans.

No one stayed out for long after dinner ended. Sarah and Cameron retired to Sarah’s tent, where they continued to irritate Dr. Gwen with an unruly amount of laughter. The older woman was attempting to get some writing done in a journal by the campfire, but after half an hour departed to her tent to turn in for the night. She hadn’t had any sleep the night before.

“Call me if anything unusual happens,” Dr. Gwen mumbled quietly, yawning.

Emile nodded in response, keeping an eye on her perfect bun. Not a single hair was out of place.

**That hair is witchcraft.**

No response.

At least he was talking to her. A bit.

Emile sighed and trudged into the tent, picking up one of the lamps from where they rested on her trunk. With her mokeskin pouch in one hand and the lamp in her other, Emile left the camp. Quietly, she crept through the grasses and brush to the top of the rise, from which she could see the entire campsite as well as the surrounding area.

“Now, let’s crack you open,” she said quietly, placing the lantern on the ground next to her as the lay out a blanket on a patch of dry earth.

Taking out a long wooden box, her own wand, the black walnut wand, and a second wooden box, Emile lay out the supplies on the blanket in front of her. The black walnut wand let out a tiny spark of red light as it momentarily made contact with Emile’s hand. She placed it on the ground carefully, in between the two wooden boxes. Her own wand she kept in her lap.

After watching the area for half an hour, Emile got to work. First, she used her own wand to carefully extract the fwooper feather core from inside the black walnut wand. The core was poorly made, a long strip of neon pink and bright red that varied in thickness throughout the strand. It glowed red in Emile’s gloved hands. Though Mr. Ollivander had said it was optional to wear gloves while dealing with live wand cores, Emile wasn’t taking any chances.

Opening the box on her left, Emile took out a small pair of scissors and a set of tiny toothcombs. From the other, she removed three Hippogriff feathers. Carefully, Emile wrapped the feathers around the core in the places where it seemed thinnest. Their flea bitten grey colors melted into the bright pink, forming streaks of white throughout the swirl of bright colors. Carefully, Emile used the small scissors to trim any of the fine feather hairs that had come undone before she carefully brushed them so they were all facing the same direction. She repeated this several times, until the entire length of the core was an even width. 

A rustle through the grass cause Emile to snap her head up, heart pounding. She squinted around her, but there was nothing around her. A small breeze rushed through her hair, causing her to shiver.

Turning back to the wand, Emile used her tools to widen the insides of the wand before carefully threading the core back through it and closing it up. 

Another rustling in the bushes caught her attention, followed by the  _ crack _ of a dry twig. Emile whipped around, the fixed wand in her hand since hers was on the ground at her feet.

“Who’s there?” She called out, heart pounding.

“Me,” came a snarky response.

Emile sighed, stuffing the wand into her pocket as Carlos sauntered up over the rise, crossing his arms as he caught sight of her setup.

“What do you want?” Emile grumbled, sitting back down onto the blanket and hastily shoving her wand supplies back into their boxes.

“I wanted to see what you were up to,” Carlos declared, crossing his arms. “This setup seems a bit suspicious, don’t you think so?”

“Look here, Dr. Gwen asked me to keep a lookout,” Emile snapped.

“Why would she do that? We hardly know you.”

Emile tried not to sigh as she packed the boxes into her pouch. “She didn’t sleep last night, Sarah doesn’t want to end up in the hospital, and Cameron didn’t want to.”

Carlos almost looked as if he wasn’t going to argue. “But then why didn’t she ask me?”

“You weren’t here. You were out on a date with—”

An eerie singing came from down the rise, drifting up to Emile and Carlos.

“Did you leave a radio on?” They asked at exactly the same time, staring at each other in shock. Glancing around the field, neither of them could see anything.

“Follow me, and don’t make a sound,” Emile hissed, picking up her wand from off of the ground.

“Like I’d let you go there alone,” Carlos scoffed. “And with only a stick to defend yourself. What are you up to? Is this a setup?”

Emile whipped around halfway down the rise, causing Carlos to come to an abrubt stop behind her as he teetered unstably on a rock, her wand dangerously close to his glasses.

“You could poke someone’s eye out with that,” he gasped as the wand tapped the edge of his rectangular glasses.

“Believe me, I could do a lot worst,” Emile growled. “Are you going to keep quiet or do I need to leave you back at camp?”

Carlos didn’t respond, leaving Emile to whip back around and run back down the slope. Not at all to her surprise, Carlos followed her past the camp towards the sound of the song.

**_What an ass._ **

**I know.**

**_Has he been like this the whole time?_ **

**Pretty much.**

**_Well, whatever you’re doing I won’t interrupt._ **

**Thank you.**

Emile paused behind a large thornbush, crouching down behind it as Carlos caught up to her, wheezing.

“Can you breathe any louder?” Emile whispered back to him, thoroughly irritated. 

“Don’t make me,” he snapped back. “Also, I didn’t go on a date with Marshall. We’re just friends.”

“Not my business,” Emile shrugged, leaning out around the bush, squinting into the distance. Sure enough, a glistening fwooper stood out in the open, perched on a fallen tree, it’s beak was open as it sang.

“What an odd bird,” Carlos commented, intrigued.

“Stay back,” Emile snapped, pointing the wand at the bird. “ _ Silencio _ .”

The bird opened and closed it’s beak, but the eerie singing had stopped.

“What did you do?” Carlos gasped, standing up to look over the bush.

“Get down you idiot, can’t you see that it’s mad?” Emile gasped, bowling Carlos over.

But it was too late.

A rush of wind filled the air as the fwooper rushed at the two of them, diving down on top of Carlos as Emile flung herself towards the ground.

“What do I do?!” He yelled, picking up a branch to fend off the wild bird.

“Keep it still!” Emile yelled back, brandishing her wand.

“Keep it still, that’s funny!”

Carlos paid for his sarcasm as the bird’s beak closed around his hand, tearing the flesh as it held on tight.

“Don’t move!” Emile yelled as Carlos screamed into the once quiet night. “ _ Petrificus Totalus! _ ”

The fwooper froze, it’s eyes bulging and feathers bushed, making it appear three times its size. Emile walked over to the bird, breathing deeply as she admired it’s bright plumage.

“HELP ME DAMNIT.”

“You wouldn’t need help if you hadn’t been so stupid!” Emile snapped hotly, prying the sharply curved beak out of Carlos’s hand. She winced as blood gushed out of the open wound.

“We need to get back to the camp. We need to call the hospital,” Carlos breathed out, his face turning white.

“No need, you’ve got me.”

Emile jumped around, wand in hand, relaxing as she recognized Dumi. The young nurse was climbing towards them, a jacket around his shoulders.

“Thank Merlin, it’s you,” Emile breathed as he reached the thornbush, bending down to examine Carlos’s hand.

“Give me some light,” Dumi said sharply as he squinted down at the wounded hand.

“There’s a lantern further up the slope if-”

“Damnit Emile, just use your wand.”

Emile frowned but didn’t object, illuminating the area with a flick of her wrist. Carlos was too concerned with his hand to question the glowing stick in Emile’s hand, or so she thought. That was seconds before he fainted.

“He hasn’t lost enough blood to be rendered unconscious so easily,” Dumi complained as he easily picked up the somewhat scrawny male.

“I think it’s a combination of the fwooper, the blood loss, and the magic,” Emile said lightly, levitating the fwooper behind them as they walked past the dead tree the fwooper hand been on, Emile shivering as they did so.

“Seems legit,” Dumi grinned as he loaded Carlos into the back of his pickup truck. “Here, put the fwooper in that cage back there.”

Emile obliged, releasing the bird from the charm once the cage was closed and secured in the back of the truck. The bird glared at her as it attempted to make any kind of noise, helplessly opening and closing its beak.

“Will you be taking him to the hospital?” Emile asked as Dumi climbed into the driver's seat.

“I will, and fast,” Dumi gave a weak smile as he closed his door and started up the engine, driving away from Emile.

With a shrug Emile turned and headed back to the camp, thinking up a cover story for Dr. Gwen.

**_Emile, for Merlin’s sake._ **

**What? What did I do now?**

**_You must be really tired._ **

**I am.**

**_Obviously. You didn’t even realize how odd it is that that Dumi arrived just when you needed him. With a conveniently fwooper sized cage in the trunk of his car._ **

**Oh my god.**

**_Yeah._ **

**But why?**

**_How should I know? Go check out that tree the fwooper was on._ **

Emile turned around as she passed the thornbush, heading straight for the dead tree. The shiver as she passed it confirmed it, someone had used magic on this tree.

**What do I do now?**

**_Apparate. You don’t have any other choice._ **

Clutching her wand in her hand, Emile turned on her heel, focusing on Dumi’s truck. Her eyes snapped shut as her ears popped, making Emile feel as if she had dived headfirst into a twenty foot pool. A moment later she felt something moving out from under her, and she opened her eyes to find herself standing in the metal trunk of the moving pickup.

“DUMI!” She screeched over the wind as she was thrown backwards, nearly falling out of the trunk. To her enormous surprise, the poor fwooper stuck out its leg and wrapped its taloned foot around Emile’s ankle, keeping her from falling out of the metal vehicle.

“Thank you,” she breathed, looking the bird in the eyes. It blinked back slowly as Emile crawled to the front of the car on all fours, reaching out to bang on the driver’s window.

“PULL OVER!” She yelled on the top of her lungs, causing the car to swerve. Dumi slammed on the brakes, sending Emile crashing chest first into the rear window of the truck. Dumi stepped out of the car, climbing into the trunk to help Emile up as she attempted to catch her breath.

“Thank you,” she breathed as Dumi smiled down at her, opening his mouth to respond. Her fist connected with his nose as he did so, and he fell back in the trunk, holding onto a most likely broken nose.

“What the hell?!” He yelled, holding his hand up to his nose.

“No sir, you do not get to be angry here. I am the only one who gets to be angry,” Emile hissed, holding out her wand. 

Dumi looked up, a bit frightened, before closing his eyes. To Emile’s disappointment, he let out a deep chuckle.

“Finally caught on, haven’t you?”

Dumi’s leg swept to the side, intent on knocking Emile’s out from under her, but she was too fast. Leaping into the air, she jumped over the leg and landed on all fours, pinning Dumi to the ground.

“Talk,” she hissed. “Was this to get rid of your father? Of Dr. Gwen? Were you trying to get the group removed?”

“No, no, no!” Dumi looked up, his brown eyes glistening on his blood stained face. “I just wanted to stay here!”

This took Emile by surprise. “You, what?”

Dumi sighed, closing his eyes. “We didn’t tell you everything. This fwooper, it’s ours. Has been for several years. That wand was my attempt of making a wand. They’ve always fascinated me. Originally we were sent here because the Olifantspruit group had discovered a litter of baby Kneazle’s. We couldn’t just take them, since without a wand it’s nearly impossible to alter memories, so we moved here for a bit to make it seem like we intended on adopting them.”

Emile frowned down at Dumi as he paused to catch his breath. 

“Charlie, our fwooper, broke out of his cage one night. We hadn’t fed him in several days and he had managed to pick the lock with his talons. His silencing charm had almost expired, so we had to hunt him down. But then dad told me that as soon as we got him back we’d have to leave. I really like Johannesburg. I don’t want to go back to Madagascar to continue studying the animals there, I want to stay here and possibly get a job teaching at Ugadao. They’re hiring several new teachers this year.”

“So what, you purposely attacked all of those people to delay going home? Because you couldn’t tell your father what you really want to do?” Emile glared down at Dumi. “That’s pathetic.”

“Not as pathetic as getting beaten up by a blue haired shrimp,” Dumi grumbled back.

“Oi,” Emile held the wand dangerously close to his neck. “Keep talking.”

“The attacks were real at first,” Dumi explained hurriedly. “Then Charlie got hungry, so he came back to the house when my father was at the hospital. I was going to tell him about Charlie, I swear, but then I realized we’d end up leaving. So every night I would take Charlie out to the tributary and let him roam free. He always returned the next day, and sometimes I would track him to see where he went.”

Emile sighed, stepping off of Dumi as he stood up. “We’re going to your father, and you are explaining all of this to him.”

Dumi sighed and hung his head, causing a fresh gush of blood to come out of his nose.

“Alright, but you’ve got to drive.”

Emile grinned, climbing into the driver's seat. It had been years since she’d driven a car, but it was kind of like riding a bike. 

As they turned onto the freeway, Dumi turned to her.

“By the way, nice punch.”

“Thanks.”

~*~

“I see.”

That was the only response Dr. Tichaona gave as Dumi explained everything that had happened. An agitated Marshall had taken Carlos into the operating room to stitch up his hand with another doctor. Dumi and Emile had brought the fwooper straight to Dr. Tichaona. Dumi had an invisibility cloak that they draped over the cage before he levitated it to the office between the two of them.

“And you, Miss Emile,” Dr. Tichaona turned to Emile as his son frowned and crossed his arms. “How did fixing the wand go?”

“Well enough,” Emile said with a smile, handing the Doctor the black walnut wand.

He smiled for the first time as he held the wand in his hands. “Yes, this is very nice.”

Emile jumped back as the Doctor whipped around and pointed the wand at one of the cauldrons next to him. “ _ Levioso. _ ”

The cauldron shakily rose in the air until it reached the ceiling, where it hovered a moment before the Doctor carefully lowered it back down.

“It’s very well done, Miss Gorska,” the Doctor smiled. “Many thanks go to you.”

“Father, I hate to interrupt,” Dumi stepped forward hesitantly, “-but I’ve already applied for a teaching position at Ugadao, and I’m waiting to hear back to see-”

“Oh, they responded two weeks ago,” Doctor Tichaona responded bluntly, sitting down at his desk and carefully laying the wand out in front of him.

“They what?” Both Emile and Dumi jumped up from where they sat.

“Yes, you have an interview with them this Wednesday.”

Dumi’s face turned bright red and he raised his hands in a very threatening way. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I was waiting for you to tell me,” Dr. Tichaona said calmly, straightening out the wand where it lay. “Dumi, I understand that you don’t want to do my work, but you need to tell me yourself. It shocks me that you would go as far as attacking innocent muggles to detain our stay here.”

Dumi made a face at his father, lowering his hands to his side. He opened his mouth to respond, but then paused with a pointed look at Emile.

“I’ll go wait outside,” Emile said quickly, stepping out of the office. She wandered down the brightly lit hallway to Branwen and Ari’s room. Doctor Tichaona had just finished administering the potion when they had arrived, and to her surprise both Branwen and Ari were awake and talking.

“Emile!” Ari grinned as she walked into the room. “How are you?”

“I’m alright,” Emile grinned, sitting down in a chair in the back of the room. “And what about you two?”

“Dandy, absolutely dandy,” Ari chirped.

Branwen smiled at the two of them. “So wh—”

“Much better than yesterday, anyways,” Ari cut her off. “Man, yesterday was—”

He let out a surprised yelp as a slipper flew from the other side of the room and collided with his head. Emile whipped her head quick enough to catch Branwen flip him off, to which he responded with an whimper and puppy eyes. 

“What are you doing here?” Branwen asked Emile.

Emile shrugged. “I had to escort a bleeding Carlos here.”

“Does Dr. Gwen know?” Branwen gasped as Ari threw the hospital slipped back at her and blew her a kiss. She roller her eyes, but blew one back nonetheless.

Emile shook her head. “I don’t know how to contact her.”

Branwen grinned and picked up a mobile phone from the nightstand next to her, lifted it, and faked a throw at Ari (“Don’t you dare!”) before tossing it to Emile. “She’s the emergency contact on here. Go crazy.”

Emile looked down at the brick-like phone in her hands. She’d never used one of these. After a minute or so of various button pressing, the screen finally showed that the phone was dialing. Holding the phone up to her ear, Emile waited for someone to pick up on the other end and watched as Ari and Branwen continued their game of catch with the slipper.

“Hello?” A sleepy voice said from the other end.

“Hi, Emile here. Who’s this?”

“Sarah. Jesus Christ, Brit, it’s four in the morning.”

“Yes, well, tell Dr. Gwen that I’m in the hospital with Carlos. He injured his hand and is getting stitches.”

Silence on the other end of the line.

“Hello?”

“Yes, I’ll do that. She’ll probably be there in an hour or so.”

“Brilliant. Sleep well.”

“I haven’t slept well since you arrived.”

Emile handed the phone back to Branwen with an aggressive smile on her face. “Dr. Gwen will be here soon.”

Branwen smile and nodded, throwing the slipper back at Ari before setting the mobile phone back down on her nightstand.

“Emile!” 

Emile turned as someone called her name from the doorway. To her surprise, Dumi was standing there with a pair of men in suits. His face was a bit dark.

“I’ll—um—talk to you two later,” Emile said to the couple before quickly walking out of the room.

Dumi grabbed hold of her arm and directed her down the hallway, gripping it tightly. 

“Listen, if you remember your place than you won’t get into trouble,” Dumi urged quietly as one of the men opened a door on their left. 

“What’s going on?” Emile whispered back as the other man ushered her into the room. 

Dumi simply shook his head at her as the second man came into the room after them, closing the door behind him. The one who had shoved her into the room turned on the light, illuminating the small space they were in.

“I hope you are comfortable,” one of them mumbled politely.

“We’re in a broom cupboard,” Emile stated bluntly, staring at the pile of buckets on the floor.

“No matter,” One of the men spoke, flicking his hand to the side. 

Immediately, three buckets rose into the air while the others stacked themselves in the corner. The three then landed on the floor in a circle. The two men sat down on the buckets closest to the door, leaving Emile no choice but to maneuver around them to the third. She sat down, facing the two strangers, and folded her hand in her lap.

“So, what’s all this about?”

The first man cleared his throat. “Miss Gorska, we received information that you performed several spells in the presence of a muggle. After consulting with Tichaona and Dumi, it is apparent that you were attempting to save the muggles life. However, we strongly advise you to keep your wand hidden away until you leave tomorrow evening. I—”

“Tomorrow evening?” Emile couldn’t help but laugh. “Are you honestly kicking me out of a country for saving countless people?”

The second man frowned at her. “Saving from a fwooper? Miss Emile, if worst had come to worst, those muggles wouldn’t be able to be cured and would have ended up in a facility to be cared for.”

“No one belongs in one of those facilities,” Emile snapped, her temper flaring. 

“Miss Emile, please, calm down.”

**_Em._ **

**Hmm?**

**_Listen to them. You’ve been away long enough as it is._ **

**I wanted some fwooper feathers.**

**_Dumi can give them to you. You just have to leave._ **

Emile took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I was planning on leaving this evening anyways. Would it be alright if I leave on my own, simply disapparating back to England?”

The men chuckled. 

“No, Miss,” the first one spoke again. “It is impossible. We have all expenses covered for you, you simply must leave.”

Emile looked at them a small smile growing on her face. “You aren’t from the government, are you?”

The men slowly began to smile. “No, miss. We’re from Ugadao.”

“The wizarding school?”

“The one and only.”

Emile stared at them, confused. “I don’t understand.”

The second man leaned forward, smiling. “Well, we always come check out potential teachers for our school before offering jobs.”

“But I didn’t apply.”

He smiled again. “Dr. Tichaona recommended you. Though we do not rely on the usage of wands in our school, we do offer wandlore classes. The current professor, a delightful older woman named Ingrid, is considering retiring in a few years. And the wand Dr. Tichaona showed us was magnificent.”

Emile smiled at the two men. “This story sounds just a bit more believable than the other one.”

The first man smirked. “We will be in contact with you, Miss Emile. Now we have to go interview your friend Dumi.”

“Don’t scare him too much,” Emile smiled, following the men out of the broom cupboard.

Dumi was nowhere in sight, so Emile gave the men directions to the nurses lounge before going back into Branwen and Ari’s room to check on them. The couple was fast asleep, their hands almost touching as they hung off the sides of their beds. The slipper was abandoned on the floor.

Carlos was discharged from the hospital at the same time as Branwen and Ari, hand thoroughly bandaged and memory modified. He had no recollection of the previous night. As far as he was concerned his hand had gotten stuck in a thornbush and on his way back to camp he had tripped and impaled it on a sharp rock. The rest of the group seemed to believe it, which was all that mattered.

Dr. Tichaona had personally handed Emile a large bag of fwooper feathers, each one glowing like a muggle glowstick. Dumi had been bursting with excitement as he accompanied his father to bid Emile farewell. 

“I got the job!” he burst out in a whisper as soon as the muggles were out of earshot. Emile had laughed and given her new friend a hug, congratulating him on his achievement.

No one in the group was particularly sad to see Emile go. Ari and Branwen bid her a heartfelt farewell, and Sarah enveloped her in a hug. Cameron simply nodded, he hadn’t talked to her much. It was Carlos that surprised her.

“I’m sorry for being so rude to you earlier,” he said strangely sincerely. “You saved my life, getting me to the hospital in time.”

“Carlos, don’t exaggerate,” Emile had smiled, shocked. “The worst that could have happened is a raving infection spreading from your hand, and that would only lead to the amputation of your arm.”

“Only the amputation of my arm,” Carlos had scoffed in response, rolling his eyes.

Dr. Gwen drove Emile to the airport, sparing her the pain of walking all the way to the bus stop. They talked along the way, mainly about Emile and her life back in London. Dr. Gwen was very bright, but she seemed to believe Emile’s story about taking a gap year in between school and university to travel. She also strongly recommended medicine as a profession, since Emile obviously wasn’t sure what she was planning on doing yet.

“Hold on one moment,” Dr. Gwen put her hand on Emile’s arm as they parked in the drop off area of the airport.

“Yes?” Emile turned, slightly impatient to be off.

Dr. Gwen was smiling. “I know you were sent here to fix the problem we had. Many people were suffering from ‘heatstrokes’ and other rubbish before you came along. I hope that you’re leaving because the problem was taken care of.”

“It was Dumi who took care of the problem,” Emile spoke earnestly, smiling at the older female. “And while we’re asking questions, I have one for you.”

“Fire away,” Dr. Gwen smiled back at her.

“What’s the secret to your perfect hair?”

Dr. Gwen laughed until tears streamed down her face. “Magic.”

Emile believed her.


	70. The Sight

Emile’s ears were ringing. When she had arrived at the Burrow, safe and unharmed, Mrs. Weasley had let out a screech that caused the entire house to shake. Bill, who was living at home on account of his position in the Order, had come running with his wand drawn to find Mrs. Weasley smothering Emile, close to tears. He stood in the entrance to the house, smiling as Emile attempted to politely rid herself of the motherly affection she was being shown.

“So, how were the colonies?” he asked politely as Mrs. Weasley ushered Emile into the kitchen for lunch.

Emil pulled out a small cardboard box from her bag, opening it up to reveal a large stack of carefully organized polaroids.

“I’m so glad you ask,” she said with a grin.

The next three hours were spent talking about Emile’s travels, with occasional breaks for sandwiches and tea. Like Emile, Bill and Mrs. Weasley were shocked at the Seattle Underground and how well developed it was.

“It looks an awful lot like Diagon Alley,” Mrs. Weasley mused as Emile showed a set of photos that created a panorama of the underground alley.

“The whiskey is nothing like what they have at Diagon Alley,” Emile stated with a grin that made Bill laugh and Mrs. Weasley smile.

As Emile began to pack the polaroids back in her box, she realized that the house was unusually calm. “Where is everyone?” Emile asked Bill with a frown as Mrs. Weasley cleared the most of the dishes from table, leaving only the teapot with the small remainder of tea along with the tea cups, and set the brushes to work washing the dishes.

“It’s september fourth,” he said with a smile. “Did you lose track of the days when you were traveling?”

“It’s hard to keep up with the constant time zone changes,” Emile rolled her eyes. “But that is a bummer. I was hoping to see Ginny.”

“Speaking of my siblings,” Bill reached into his pocket and pulled out a long, thin package wrapped in muggle plastic. As Emile took it from the eldest Weasley, it froze her hand, and she dropped it onto the table with a gasp.

“What is in that thing?” Emile shuddered, rubbing her hand on her pants in an attempt to warm it up before hurriedly wrapping her hands around the hot cup of tea in front of her.

“It’s a specially cooled package for you,” Bill said with a smile. “I thought you wanted Dragon Heartstring?”

“Oh, right,” Emile stared at the package and opened her pouch with one hand, grasping the package as lightly as she possibly could and dropping it into her pouch. It thudded around inside, and Emile winced as she heard her organized boxes fall over.

“What do you have in that thing?” Bill said, bewildered.

“Souvenirs, amongst other things.”

“You can write Ginny a letter and we can send those through the owl post,” Mrs. Weasley said with a smile as she came back to the table. “I ought to write to the kids myself.”

“Owl!” Emile gasped, standing up from the table. “I’ve got to go somewhere.”

“You just got here,” Bill said, bewildered.

“I need to get my pet owl,” Emile explained, grabbing her pouch off of the table.

“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Weasley nodded with a wry smile plastered onto her face. “But, maybe Bill should accompany you?”

“No!” Emile turned around quickly, taking note at the shocked look on Mrs. Weasley’s face.

Taking a deep breath, she apologized. “I’m sorry, but he’s in a secret place. I don’t want anyone to know about my hiding spot, it’s too dangerous.”

Bill nodded, unoffended. “What she says makes sense, mum.”

Mrs. Weasley gave a quick nod before returning to the kitchen, her mouth in a very straight line. 

Once she disappeared from sight, Bill turned to Emile. “She’s just worried about you. You haven’t got any parents to worry about you so she assigns herself the task. Same goes for Harry.”

“Sometimes I’m thankful for that,” Emile attempted to joke, but the pitying look Bill gave her told her that was out of line. “No, really. I appreciate what you all do for me so much. I can’t thank you enough.”

Bill nodded, taking a sip of his tea. “Well, get going. Hurry back.”

Emile smiled and nodded, opening her now transfigured, back to normal trunk and removing a paper-wrapped parcel. Stuffing it into her pouch, she bid Bill farewell and left the house, apparating away in the front lawn. Breathing in the smell of pine needles and fresh water, Emile opened her eyes to the sight of her treehouse, windows intact and shutters shut. The swinging rope ladder that led up inside was hoisted up and coiled over the trapdoor, hiding the entrance from view.

Raising her hands into the air, fingers bent the way Dumi had showed her, Emile frowned and waved her hands. To any normal onlooker it would have looked ridiculous, but Emile knew what she was doing. The rope ladder uncoiled, dropping through the air until it reached the ground. Emile didn’t know how to unlock doors, so she pulled out her wand and opened the entrance with a small flick of the wrist.

Climbing into the treehouse, Emile looked around the familiar space. In the corner was Artemis’s empty cage, gathering dust. It obviously hadn’t been used in a while. The air smelled like her lotion and wood shavings, and an elegant pile of wood sat on a shelf, the bare branches shining in the weak sunlight that filtered in through a crack in the shutters.

Emile smiled softly and pulled the three wooden boxes out of her mokeskin pouch, placing them in a neat pile on the shelves next to the wood. A faint glowing was coming from the box of cores, and the energy Emile felt while holding it was uncomparable to anything else. The extreme numbness she felt in her hands after carefully placing the dragon heartstring package alongside the boxes on the shelves was another feeling uncomparable to anything Emile had felt before.

**_Hello._ **

**What’s up, Barty?**

**_Don’t call me that._ **

Emile smiled to herself.

**_I need to talk to you._ **

**Can’t this wait a minute?**

“Achilles? Achilles,” Emile called softly, squinting up to look into the rafters of the treehouse. The familiar Boreal didn’t show his face.

Emile clucked her tongue, frowning as she looked around the empty treehouse.

**_Hey._ **

**Yes?**

**_Can we talk now?_ **

**Right now?**

**_Yes. I already told you, there’s something you should know. Frankly it’s something you need to know._ **

**Have you forced me to sleepwalk and kill someone?**

**_This isn’t a joke._ **

**Ok, I’m sorry.**

**_Close your eyes._ **

Emile sighed, sitting down on the neatly folded pile of blankets in the corner.

**Ready?**

**_Ready as I’ll ever be,_ **

She closed her eyes.

Immediately, she was transported into a memory of Bartemius. He was walking down a long hallway in Hogwarts, towards a spiral staircase. Emile recognized the place: it led to the divination room. Emile hurried after Bartemius as he began to ascend the spiral staircase. Just then, two seventh years came bustling down the steps, elbowing Bartemius hard as they ran past him, knocking him over and sending the books he held tumbling out of his arms.

“What where you’re going, nerd,” one scoffed, rolling his black haired head.

“What a loser,” the other one chortled as they passed Emile.

“You can’t get lower in the school than Fartemius,” the other one grinned, and the two high fived and guffawed.

Bartemius was glaring down at the two older students, sighing as he bent down to pick up his books. Emile ran over to help, but as she leaned down to pick a book up her fingers went right through it.

“Bartemius Crouch Junior.”

Both Bartemius and Emile looked up, Emile pressing herself against the wall as the pale, narrow face of Bellatrix Lestrange glared down at Bartemius.

“Bellatrix Black,” he said with a nod, straightening up quickly.

“You shouldn’t let them push you around like that,” she continued, her cold eyes narrowed. “If you plan on joining our cause after school than you’re going to have to teach Rudolphus and the Carrow blokes to respect you.”

“It’s not like I haven’t tried,” Bartemius snapped, his temper flaring. “It’s hard to focus on making an impression when you’re taking your OWLs.”

Bellatrix smirked. “Dear, I’m taking my NEWT’s. I think that if I can manage to study and make quite the impression on Rudolphus, you can try a bit harder.”

“I don’t understand how you can date that ass,” Bartemius snorted and rolled his eyes.

“He may be an ass, but he’s my ass,” Bellatrix smirked, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “You can’t tell me he doesn’t have a nice ass.”

Bartemius opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out.

“There. That’s how you know I’m right,” Bellatrix smirked, turning to continue down the stairs. “Good luck on the Divination exam. Helbore can be a pain in the ass.”

Bartemius smirked, his eyes following Bellatrix’s crazy black hair as she tromped down the stairs before turning and making his way up to the divination room. Professor Helbore turned out to be a thin, tall man with a hooked nose, electric blue eyes, and a shock of white hair.

“Bartemius, Crouch, Junior,” he wheezed, pausing between each word.

“Professor Helbore,” Bartemius responded, nodding.

“Come in, boy. Come in.”

Bartemius placed his books down by the door before stepping into the room, sitting down on one of the many cushions.

“You seem tired, lad,” Professor Helbore wheezed, eyes flashing with pain as he attempted to sit down in a chair across from Bartemius.

“You seem like you’re in pain,” Bartemius responded evenly. 

Professor Helbore wheezed with laughter. “Bartemius, some people swear you have the gift of the sight, but I just say you’re incredibly observative.”

“Thank you,” Bartemius responded, folding his hands in his lap. “Shall we begin? I still have Defense Against the Dark Arts written exam this afternoon. And I would like to review the textbook beforehand.”

“Of course, lad. Of course,.”

Emile didn’t pay attention to what happened next, she was no good at Divination and never had been. It was boring. She wandered around the room, noticing the lack of incense and scented candles. In one corner the window was open, and as Bartemius read the professors palm Emile stuck her head out, surveying Hogwarts grounds. To her surprise, a familiar scene was at play below her, near the shore of the black lake. 

Snape was hovering in the air, yelling at a scruffy haired teen and his friends as they dangled him in the air. A fiery redhead ran up to hem and yelled at James Potter, only for Snape to yell at her. With a hurt expression on her face she flounced off, her taunt drifting up through the still air to the tower.

“ _ Snivellus _ .”

“Barty?”

Emile whipped around as Professor Helbore fell out of his chair, staring at Bartemius as his eyes turned white.

“ _ There will be a girl— _ ” Bartemius was trembling, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“He has the sight!” Professor Helbore was gasping. “He has the sight!”

“ _ When two become one and he rises again, they must lose whom she loves or join his reign. _ ”

Bartemius’s eyes flickered and he collapsed onto the floor, gasping for breath.

“Wh-what was that?” he shivered. “That was awful.”

“That was the sight,” Professor Helbore said excitedly, but Emile wasn’t paying attention.

**What two become one? Us?**

**_Yes. I’d honestly forgotten about this until I couldn’t do anything except reevaluate my life choices._ **

**I have to join the dark lord?**

**_No._ **

**Oh, good.**

**_I do._ **

**But, you’re in me.**

**_I know._ **

**So how does that work?**

**_I take over your body._ **

**No.**

**_Would you rather everyone died?_ **

**I don’t know. This is too much, Bartemius.**

**_I’m sorry._ **

**Are you?**

A tapping brought Emile back to the present. She had fallen over, her head was lying on the wooden floor. The tapping noise persisted as Emile sat up, rubbing her head. Something was attacking the window of the treehouse. She sighed and began to climb down to rickety rope ladder, nearly falling off as a lump of feather landed on her head, giving a series of small, low hoots.

“Achiles, get off,” Emile smiled. “I’m going to fall.”

“Sorry, I couldn’t get him to come back,” Darren apologized from below, giving a low whistle. Achilles whipped his head around and hooted in response before flying off of Emile’s head.

“You ruined my hair,” she lectured the bird once she reached the ground, giving Darren a hug. Achilles hopped onto her shoulder and nipped her ear before she drew away, and Darren laughed.

“You have to tell me about your travels,” he insisted, pulling her towards a fallen tree. 

“Darren,” Emile hesitated, pulling her hand away. “Listen, I’m really tired—jet lag and all that—and I would really appreciate if we could meet up sometime later. I just wanted to check on Achilles.”

Darren smiled sympathetically and nodded. “Alright, that works. I should probably get back to Oliver, anyways.”

“Oliver Wood?” Emile stared at Darren. “You’re still seeing him, then?”

Darren was obviously trying not to blush, but most of his face ended up red as he tried not to grin. “Yeah. He says that he made the mistake of telling his team about how a few of you guys used to punch him in the arm as a way to ‘knock on wood’ for good luck. Now before a game everyone on the team punches him in the arm.”

Emile laughed so hard that she snorted. “Oh my. Well, tell him I’m sorry and that it’s good to hear he’s alright.”

“What about you?” Darren asked, leaning forward.”Are you alright?”

Emile smiled back, leaning in very close to Darren’s face. “No.”


	71. AbsoluteLee

Emile knocked on the door to the apartment, hoping that she had the right one. Molly had managed to recall the floor number of the apartment Lee now lived in, but not the actual apartment number. Since this was the only number without a name, Emile assumed it was recently acquired.

Artemis let out a small hoot and flapped his wings impatiently as Emile knocked on the door a second time. Impatient shouts came from behind it, followed by a loud response. A moment later the door handle opened, and a guy around Emile and Lee’s age stepped out in only his pajama bottoms.

He stood in the doorway, his brown hair long and tousled. He took a long sip of his coffee as his brown eyes looked Emile up and down, lingering on the owl on her shoulder.

“Can I help you?” he asked in a deep voice.

“Hi, I’m, um,” Emile paused as another slurp came from the mug the stranger was holding. “I was looking for a man named Lee Jordan, but if he doesn’t live here I’ll leave you in peace.”

The man held up his hand, pausing for a moment to swallow a gulp of coffee. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, you’re in the right place.”

He jerked his hand inside, indicating for Emile to come into the apartment. The place was small, with bare white walls and a pile of dirty dishes in the sink. On Emile’s right was the living room area and right in front of her was the kitchen slash dining room area. On her left was a hallway with three doors, one on each side and one at the end. The odd man went down and banged on the door on his left.

“Lee! LEE!”

“What?!” came a response.

“ARE YOU DECENT?” the guy shouted.

“DECENT ENOUGH,” came a yell from inside the room. 

Emile giggled as the guy rolled his eyes and stuck his head inside.

“There’s a girl here to see you.”

“What girl?”

“Dude, you’ve never had a girl visit you.”

There was a rustling from inside the room.

“What does she look like?”

“Well she’s pretty short—”

“Is she ginger?”

“Will you let me finish? Jesus, I’ve never seen you so tense.”

“But is she?”

“No, her hair’s blue-”

A hand flew out of the crack in the door knocking the guy in the chest and the door slammed shut with a bang, leaving the disgruntled roommate lying down on the floor outside the room. Rushed noises could be heard from inside as he stood up, grumbling as he stared at the coffee slowly spreading across the hardwood floor before picking up the mug.

“He’ll be out as soon as he puts on pants,” he snapped as he stomped into the kitchen, pulling a rag out of one the the drawers and using it to mop up the spilled coffee.

“Would you like me to help?” Emile looked down at the stranger mopping up the coffee, feeling slightly out of place with the situation, but he just waved her off and grumbled something under his breath, so she fixed her gaze upon a spot on the wall.

**_Why are we visiting Lee Jordan, of all people? We ought to go check on Georgie._ **

**I’ve been thinking about George lately, and this whole feelings business.**

**_And?_ **

**I’ve decided that George isn’t the one for me. Lee isn’t either. We’re in a war and I’m not dating anyone.**

**_What? But you would be so cute with Georgie._ **

**Bartemius. Cut it out.**

**_I’m being serious._ **

**You’re trying to get on my good side. You know I’m still upset because of—**

Emile broke off, leaning against the wall and taking a deep breath.

**_I’m sorry._ **

**I know.**

Emile wandered around, looking at the movies and books on the shelves before turning back to the man, who was grumbling as he mopped up the coffee puddle.

“So, what’s your name?”

He gave her an appraising look as he stood up, brushing the dark hair out of his eyes. “William.”

Emile smiled and stuck out her hand. “Nice to meet you, I’m Emile.”

“YOU’RE Emile?” William’s eyes widened as he looked her up and down. “Somehow I imagined you taller. And curvier. But besides that, you look pretty much how Lee said you would.”

“Lee told you about me?” Emile could feel her face growing warm.

William smiled for the first time. “Yeah, he talks about you a lot.”

There was a loud crash from inside Lee’s room as the door opened and Lee tripped out, falling onto the floor. As Emile giggled her friend wrinkled his nose.

“Why does the floor smell like coffee?”

“Good question, LEE,” William snapped as he stood up and threw the dirty rag at his roommate before storming out of the apartment. “I’m going to John’s. Don’t wait up.”

“Don’t eat all his crisps!” Lee yelled, nose wrinkled as he held out the dirty rag an arms length away from him as he took it into the bathroom. A moment later there was the sound of water running.

Emile shook her head and sat down on the tattered sofa. Achilles ruffled his feathers and hopped off of her shoulder, sinking into the soft sofa cushions and falling over. He gave a shriek and attempted to flap his wings, but there wasn’t enough space on the sofa for him to stretch them out fully.

“Achilles. Achilles!” Emile attempted to grab the owl as he writhed on the sofa. “Let me help you!”

As she grabbed hold of one wing, a familiar hand grabbed hold of the other. Lee Jordan was grinning down at her as a frightened Achilles was placed back onto her shoulder.

“It’s been a while,” he said with a smirk.

“Only three months,” Emile grinned up at him. “Summer vacation is usually that long.”

“Yeah, but we didn’t know if you’d actually show up this time,” Lee’s eyes grew dark but his smile never left his face.

“Aw, did you miss me?” Emile attempted to tease, standing up and giving her old friend a hug.

“Of course I did,” Lee murmured into her hair, hugging back.

Emile grew warm and she struggled to hide a smile as she felt Lee’s hug grow a bit tighter. She felt so bad for him, excluded from all the important stuff going on. Maybe it was time to tell him about Bartemius.

“When did you get back?” he asked, drawing away and interrupting her train of thought. 

“About a week ago,” Emile grinned. “Turns out I am very good at adjusting to different time zones.”

“Tell me everything while I make some breakfast,” Lee grinned, pulling her into the kitchen. “You hungry?”

“Always,” Emile grinned, hopping up onto a counter and grinning at Lee.

They spent the next hour discussing Emile’s trip. Lee had a lot to comment on the Wizards of America, especially after Emile described Seattle’s equivalence to Diagon Alley. If there was ever a place she wanted to visit again, it would be there. She had several bag of the Starbucks coffee beans back at the Weasley’s for her use. Now she only had to figure out how to make good coffee.

“What’s the deal with William?” Emile asked as they cleaned up the table after breakfast, Emile showing off her wandless magic skills and floating the utensils over to Lee from where she sat.

“Oh, he’s a squib,” Lee shrugged. “Magical parents and magical sister. Heard that I was looking for a roommate, so he moved in two days ago.”

Emile nodded, twirling a spoon around Lee’s head as he attempted to scrub the sticky maple syrup off of a fork.

“So, this Dumi guy taught you how to do this?” Lee asked without looking up from the sink.

“Yeah, he’s alright,” Emile shrugged, dropping the spoon into the sink. “Apparently he’s going to be teaching at the wizarding school there this fall.”

“Ugadao?”

“That’s the one.”

Lee glanced sideways at Emile, who was staring out the window on her right. From the apartment you got a view of the London bay, complete with the ferris wheel and many other tourist attractions.

“I’m glad you came to visit on a Saturday,” Lee grinned, drawing Emile’s attention back to him. “So far bartending at the Leaky Cauldron has been pretty time consuming, but at least I get weekends off. They got worried that a person straight of of school wouldn’t be able to handle drunk wizards.”

“I’d like to think wizards get drunk outside of the weekend, too,” Emile grinned as she stood up from the table.

Lee laughed. “Believe me, they do.”

“What happened to a fancy ministry job?” Emile asked curiously as Lee led her over to the living room.

“I didn’t want it,” Lee grinned.

“Oh, I bet your mother loved that,” Emile laughed, thinking of Mrs. Jordan, with her elegant attire and professional attitude.

“Why do you think I’m here?” Lee said, gesturing vaguely around the shabby apartment. “I got kicked out of the house.” 

“Aw, poor unfortunate Lee,” Emile crooned, reaching up to pat Lee on the head. 

He glared down at her as she grinned up at him. Their eyes met for a heartbeat, though it could have been longer. All Emile knew was that she wouldn’t think of anyone this way. She couldn’t.

“Doooo you know what day it is?” She asked quickly, changing the subject.

“September 11th?” Lee stared at her as she spun around.

“A perfect day to spend outside in the last sun on the season,” Emile smiled. Achilles, who had been drowsing lazily in the corner, let out a hoot that caught Emile’s attention. 

“You have to stay here,” Emile said with a small smile. “Muggles won’t understand why I have an owl on my shoulder.”

Artemis blinked his entrancing yellow eyes once before bobbing his head and burying it under his wing to sleep.

“Will and I were actually planning on going to a concert this evening,” Lee smiled at Emile. “Would you be interested in joining us?”

“Depends on the concert,” Emile smirked back.

“Aerosmith,” Lee smirked back.

“Wow,” Emile stared at Lee. “How did you manage to get tickets to that?”

“We don’t have them, yet,” Lee smiled, walking towards the front door and slipping on his shoes. “Come with us and you’ll see.”

“Hmm,” Emile grinned at Lee as he tossed her her coat, catching it with one hand. “I don’t know.”

“Your call,” Lee teased. “If it helps you decide faster, I want you to be there.”

“Whyever would that help me decide faster,” Emile teased.

Lee rolled his eyes at her, zipping up his own jacket and holding open the front door for her.

They wandered around downtown London, stopping for food at a cheap chinese restaurant by the bay for a filling meal at three o’clock. At five they met up with Will outside one of London’s better known smaller theaters, and he handed them each a cardboard sign.

“Hold this,” he urged, standing at the entrance to the theater and making conversation with people at the beginning of the line.

Emile read the cardboard sign out loud. “Broke University Students need 3 Tickets. God Bless.”

“God Bless,” Lee repeated, bowing. 

Emile smiled and rolled her eyes, holding the sign up and turning towards the gathering crowd. After a few minutes a light rain began to patter down around them, filling the air with a mist that covered Emile’s glasses. Lee opened an umbrella and pulled her underneath it, taking her hand as he did so. 

“This makes us look more helpless,” he explained, squeezing her hand as he did so.

“It also makes me warmer,” Emile said with a smile, trying not to shiver as she pressed closer to Lee. 

Not thirty minutes later a kind middle aged woman managed to spare three general admission tickets for them, since some of her group had come down with Mono after attending dinner at one of their houses several nights prior to the show. Grinning, Lee, Will, and Emile all went to the back of the somewhat long line and huddled in a group underneath the umbrella as the rain began to come down harder. 

It didn’t take long for the concert hall to open its doors and people to file in. After getting a hot drink from a small cafe inside, Lee and Emile went out onto the floor while Will decided to spend the concert by the bar.

“See that blonde by the corner?” Lee asked with a nod towards the bar. 

Emile turned, nodding slowly as she caught sight of the perky girl with the curled hair sitting with her legs crossed.

“I bet you Will will have her number by the end of this concert,” Lee stated, grinning.

“I bet he’ll have more than just her number,” Emile countered, putting her hands on her hips. 

Lee laughed and wiggled his eyebrows at her as the lights over the audience went down and the two of them were pushed towards the stage by an over eager crowd.

The next two hours went be in a blur. The lights were blinding and the fog machines made the air damp and musty, but Emile and Lee danced and sang until their throats were sore. After the final song they attempted to join Will by the bar, but Lee’s room mate was busy with the blonde. Halfway through Emile’s first drink the blonde moved onto Will’s lap, and Lee spit out a sip of his drink as they watched the two of them begin to make out quite aggressively.

“You owe me, Jordan,” Emile laughed as the bartender mopped up Lee’s mess with a frown. “I said he’d get more than her number.”

“He hasn’t gotten her number yet,” Lee objected. “The bets still on.”

But two drinks later, neither of them wanted to stick around to find out who had won. Emile took Lee by the arm and the two of them walked out into the rainy night, sheltering underneath the umbrella. Once they had walked a block or so away from the theater, they went into a nearby alleyway to apparate away. 

“I don’t think I can do it,” Emile murmured, barely able to stand. Alcohol, jet lag, and her aching feet were taking their toll on her body, she could hardly stand. 

“I legally cannot take you along for alongside apparation,” Lee said with a wince. “Come on, we’ll do it together. Aim for my apartment, alright?” 

Emile yawned and nodded, standing up as straight as she could manage.

“One, two, three.”

On three the two of them turned, disappearing from the alleyway. Emile opened her eyes to the dark familiarity of Lee’s apartment, making eye contact with her friend for a split second before collapsing onto the ground. Achilles let out an ear splitting screech as he flew over to where her legs were supposed to be, and that was the last thing she could remember.


	72. Gnat

“You just do not have the best of luck.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

Nathan chewed on the end of his quill, spitting out strands of feather a moment later.

Emile laughed. “That wasn’t the smartest decision.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Nathan grinned back. 

Emile was lying in one of the wards at St. Mungo’s, recovering from the thirty minutes that she did not have her legs attached to her body in any way. Being as tired and drunk as she was, she successfully managed to splinch not one, but both of her legs on the way to Lee’s apartment. They had been left behind in the alleyway and discovered by a homeless muggle, who reported it to the police, who, thankfully, were all obliviated by the ministry when they arrived to the scene.

Nathaniel Ackerman had become healer in training at St. Mungo’s hospital. When he had heard that Emile was a current patient, he immediately switched his schedule around to ensure that he could spend time with Emile while she was here. 

“We can go out for dinner if you want,” Emile smiled. “As soon as I’m discharged.”

“Or I could just grab a candle and we can eat hospital food,” Nathan joked. 

Emile made a disgusted face at the thought of more hospital food. Not that it was absolutely horrible, but it sure wasn’t what she wanted.

“Just joking of course. But I’d like that,” Nathan grinned. “You, Miss Emile, need to catch me up on whatever the hell you’ve been doing. Last I heard, you were on the run. Yet here you are.”

“I’m surprised no one’s tried to kill me yet,” Emile scoffed in response, rolling her eyes. 

“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” Nathan said with a nod towards the door. “Too many sick people and ways to get lost.”

Emile nodded, wincing as a stab of pain shot through her torso. It was still getting accustomed to being reunited with her legs, and apparently some pain would be present throughout the next few days. 

“Do you need some more potion?” Nathan offered, jumping up from his seat. 

“Don’t drug me up even more,” Emile said a bit hoarsely. “It’s almost tea time, I’ll be fine.”

Nathan nodded and sat back down, pulling up Emile’s file out of a side pocket on the edge of the bed.

Emile looked at her friend. Had he grown? He was a bit taller. Or, maybe that was just her imagination. Everyone was taller than her. His hair was definitely darker than it had been the last time she had seen him, faded to more of a dark brown. Probably since he spent most of his summer training in the hospital. Being a healer was hard work. It must suck to get out of school only to hit the books again, with no summer break to mentally prepare yourself for it.

Nathan noticed Emile staring at him and frowned at her. 

“You better not be thinking nasty things, Miss Gorska.”

“None about you, Mister Ackerman,” Emile responded as sincerely as she could manage.

Nathan’s mouth dropped and he put his hand over his heart, whipping his head in the other direction with a small gasp. “Harsh.”

“Ackerman!” Came a booming voice from down the hall. 

“That’s my cue,” Nathan winced, leaping out from his seat and saluting Emile as he rushed out of the room.

Emile smirked and shook her head, alone in the hospital room. A few minutes passed and a sleep deprived witch with bags under her eyes came in with a tray that she set on the cart next to Emile’s bed, ignoring Emile’s thank you as she swept back out of the room, yawning.

With a sigh Emile wrapped her hands around the warm cup of tea and conceded the fight going on inside her mind, letting Bartemius speak again.

**_Fucking finally._ **

**It was tiring me out.**

**_You can’t keep blocking me out._ **

**I know I can’t, you’re getting stronger.**

**_No, you’re getting weaker. Or, you aren’t trying as hard as you used to._ **

**What’s the point? You’re going to take over me body soon, anyways.**

**_Stand up._ **

**I can’t.**

**_Why are you being so helpless?_ **

**Nothing I do can stop this from happening, I am helpless.**

**_Think of the positive side of this!_ **

**What positive side?**

**_Um, I don’t know, your precious Georgey won’t die?_ **

**I do not like George! In that way.**

**_Ok, then Lee will die._ **

Emile let out a sigh, sinking low in the bed, holding onto the cup tightly. 

**_Who is this girl I see?_ **

**No.**

**_Staring straight—_ **

**Bartemius.**

**_—back at me._ **

**Barty.**

**_Why—_ **

**Please!**

**_—is—_ **

**Stop!**

**_—my—_ **

**Bartemius Crouch Junior!**

**_—reflection-_ **

**What—**

**_—someone—_ **

**—did I do—**

**_—I—_ **

**—to deserve—**

**_—don’t know?_ **

**-this?!**

**_Quit being stingy._ **

**I’m upset. Stop making me laugh.**

**_Em._ **

**Let me wallow in self pity for just a little bit.**

**_Em you know what you could use?_ **

**What?**

**_Some motherly advice._ **

Emile spat out her tea, coughing so hard that her lungs started to burn.

**I’m not going to go visit her.**

**_Why not?_ **

**She left me.**

**_She never wanted you._ **

**Wow, for some reason that doesn’t help at all.**

**_I’m just saying._ **

**You just want to gloat over your victory.**

**_I want to see what I did to remind myself to hold back if I ever have to do that again._ **

**You don’t think the Dark Lord will make you do that again, do you?**

**_What are you, twelve? Of course he will._ **

Emile chewed her lip nervously, staring across the room at the blank, white wall. 

**_If something goes wrong, do you really want to have the only memories of your mother be through stories and photographs? Don’t you want to make some of your own memories with her?_ **

**She’s lying in a hospital bed, and will lie there for the rest of her life. She might as well be dead.**

**_That’s a bit pessimistic._ **

**That’s the truth.**

With a sigh, Emile closed her eyes and sank down into the flimsy hospital bed.

**_I will force you to go if you don’t go now._ **

**Don’t you dare.**

**_Don’t you make me._ **

Emile groaned and sat up slowly, lifting her feet off of the bed and placing them on the ground. A shock of pain traveled up her legs and back, causing her to shiver violently.

**Perhaps I could ask for a wheelchair?**

**_Why would you ask?_ **

Emile grinned and pulled out her wand, opening the door to the room and floating her body out into the hallway. Some god above must have approved of her plan, since a lovely silver wheelchair was sitting directly across the hall from her, waiting expectantly. 

As softly as she could manage, Emile lowered herself into the wheelchair, giving a sigh of relief as her no longer suspended legs ceased throbbing. As an afterthought, she summoned her blanket and wrapped it over her legs to keep them warm.

Rolling down the hall, Emile glanced at the doors and windows around her, looking for any signs or directories that could point her where she wanted to go. Eventually she located the lift, and upon rolling inside found a directory hanging on the wall.

0 - Reception and Artefact Accidents

1 - Creature Induced Injuries

2 - Magical Bugs and Diseases

3 - Potions and Plant Poisoning

4 - Spell Damage

5 - Visitors Tea room and Hospital Shop

Frowning, Emile looked up from the directory to the floor number.

**Why am I in Artefact Accidents? Shouldn’t this be considered Spell Damage?**

**_Do I look like a healer?_ **

**You don’t look.**

**_Harsh._ **

Smirking, Emile reached upwards and hit the large button mark with the number four. A disembodied female voice said, “Floor four, Spell Damage.”

The doors to the lift slid open, revealing a long, narrow hallway much like the one she had just come down. Pressing softly against the wheels, Emile cautiously rolled herself forward, drawing in a shuddery breath as the lift door closed behind her with a ding.

**I don’t know where I’m going.**

**_Forward._ **

**This was a mistake.**

**_Don’t you dare turn—_ **

“Can I help you?” Came a small chirp from somewhere behind Emile.

“I didn’t mean too!” Emile yelped, turning her head to see a familiar gold haired man perched in the shadows. “Professor Lockheart?”

“Why, all you children are so sweet, insisting I taught you everything you know,” the ex-professor chuckled, stepping out from where he was leaning against a statue. He smiled, flashing still blindingly white teeth.

“What are you-”

“Lockheart, you naughty boy!”

Emile tried not to show how panicked she was as a motherly looking healer waltzed up to the two of them.

“Oh, bless you, did you come to visit the patients?” She said with a smile as she looked at Emile’s wheelchair.

“I was looking for-”

“Right this way!” The healer smiled down at her as she guided Gilderoy Lockheart down the hall.

“I do believe that all of these children are quite fond of me,” Lockheart bragged as they stopped in front of a door that apparently lead to the Janus Thickey ward.

“That’s nice, maybe you could offer this kind injured young lady an autographed photo?” The healer prompted.

“I was just about to suggest the same thing!” Lockheart cried out, delighted.

Emile rolled into the ward behind them, her face burning.

**_Why are you so embarrassed? Just ask about who you’re looking for._ **

**No, I don’t want to interrupt her. She seems so nice.**

**_Merlin save us._ **

“This is our long-term resident ward,” she informed Emile in a low voice. “For permanent spell damage, you know. Of course, with intensive remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce some improvement. . . . Gilderoy does seem to be getting back some sense of himself, and we’ve seen a real improvement in Mr. Bode, he seems to be regaining the power of speech very well, though he isn’t speaking any language we recognize yet.”

Emile nodded as she glanced around the room. There were several unmistakable signs of this being a permanent resident ward; from the large amount of personal items scattered around the patients beds to the familiarity in which they acknowledged the various healers with. Gilderoy Lockheart had a magnificently large portrait of himself hanging over his bed as he dug through a pile of photographs and grabbed a quill.

“Now,” said Gilderoy as he turned around quickly, “who am I making this out to?”

“Emile,” Emile responded with a smile.

“Come now, beautiful, you can give me a bit more than that,” Gilderoy said with a wink that would have flattered Emile if it had been from any other man.

“Emile Gorska,” she responded in a teasing voice.

“Middle name? Or Initial? I do like being thorough, mind you.”

Emile couldn’t help but smile.“Victoria.”

“Emile Victoria Gorska.”

There was a small gasp from the corner of the room, and the healer came rushing back out, her face pale. 

“You’re the other child?” She asked softly, making sure to whisper in Emile’s ear.

“The other child?” Emile whispered back, confused.

“Of Alice,” the healer insisted urgently, looking into Emile’s green eyes with somewhat frightened brown ones.

“Alice Longbottom is my birth mother, yes,” Emile frowned. “Technically I shouldn’t be considered the ‘other child’, since I am her firstborn.”

The healer nodded slowly, letting out a sigh. “Are you here to see her?”

“If it isn’t too much trouble,” Emile murmured quietly, glancing around the room.

“It’s alright,” the healer sighed yet again, rubbing her temples with her hands. “She’s stable at the moment.”

**_Stable?_ **

**Nervous?**

**_I—No, not at all._ **

**If that’s what we’re doing, than me neither.**

The healer pushed Emile’s wheelchair over to the curtain she had emerged from, revealing what lay behind it.  Her face was thin and worn now, her eyes overlarge, and her hair, which had turned white, was wispy and dead-looking. 

Emile stared at her birth mother for a moment, before closing her eyes in silent consent for Bartemius to do the same. Neither one of them said anything, but Emile didn’t want to face the whirlwind of emotions she felt. Her father had said she looked like her mother, or rather, how her mother had used to look. Emile prayed she didn’t look like what lay before her, and it sickened her to the stomach to think about what an awful thought that was. This was her mother.

“Yes, she looks like you, doesn’t she Mrs. Longbottom?” the healer chirped from behind Emile.  “Very pretty.”

Pushing Bartemius back, Emile regained her sight to see Alice Longbottom was staring at her with hauntingly pale eyes.  She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions toward Emile before pointing back to herself.

Emile continued staring at her mother.

Alice Longbottom broke eye contact with her and let her eyes wander around the room as she hummed a nursery rhyme to herself.

“Would you like to brush her hair?” The healer offered, gesturing to a worn hairbrush lying on her mother's nightstand. “She enjoys it when people brush and do her hair.”

Emile nodded, and the nurse pushed her over to the edge of the low hospital bed. 

“Why is it so low?” Emile asked quietly, attempting to distract herself and hastily blinking to keep the water from pooling up in her eyes.

“She has a habit of falling out of bed,” the nurse explained with a sigh. “Even with the barriers up.”

When Emile hesitantly got hold of the thick brush, her mothers aged face broke into a smile, and she turned around with her back to Emile, letting the long, dead white hair fall down her back.

With trembling hands and a wavering confidence, Emile slowly ran the brush through her mother's hair. Alice Longbottom resumed her humming, rocking back and forth as she smiled to herself, unaware of the shock the person tending to her was experiencing.

**Her hair is so soft**

**_Is your hair soft?_ **

**Not anymore.**

**_You look more like your father than you do her._ **

**I might look like how she used to look like. I don’t know what that was like.**

**_Let me show you._ **

Unwillingly, Emile was swept back into Bartemius mind. There was a blinding flash before she appeared with Bartemius, Bellatrix, and Rodolphus. A glittering wedding ring adorned Bellatrix’s left hand, thick and black and embedded with tiny emeralds that scattered reflections of the light around the dark room they were in. By the way Bartemius looked at the ring, Emile could tell he loathed it.

The group of them were waiting expectantly in a large, black room, their backs to the door. The only light coming into the room came from a large window on the side of the room. Outside a street light glowed an eerie green. As they stood there, patiently, the light outside went out, and the room was plunged into darkness.

As her eyes adjusted to the light, Emile could make out Bellatrix’s sinister smile as she whispered to her companions, “They’re here.”

A moment later the door was flung open, and as the trio of Death Eaters whipped around a stream of hexes and curses flew toward them, quickly getting blocked by the shielding charms cast by Bartemius and Rudolphus. Behind them, Bellatrix summoned the wands away from their attackers, leaving them defenseless.

Wandless, the two assailants attempted to flee the room. Bartemius shut the door with a flick of his wrist while Bellatrix and Rodolphus cast body binding charms, floating the two people to the center of the room and keeping them in an upright position. 

Bellatrix lifted her wand upwards. “Lumos Maxima.”

A floating orb of light burst out of the tip of her wand and hovered in the air, illuminating the room in an icy white light. Emile sneezed as she stared at it a split second too long, causing Bartemius to flinch and glance around the room.

“You shouldn’t be able to hear me,” Emile whispered to herself, aware that he could not hear her.

Bartemius stalked around the room as if to ensure that it was secure, eyes flickering around as he passed through Emile, shivering. 

But she wasn’t paying attention to Bartemius anymore.

Frank Longbottom had been a handsome man, slick hair and rectangular glasses decorated his shapely face. Well, the glasses were on the floor at the moment, but they were doubtlessly his. His brown eyes flickered around the room warily as he surveyed the three death eaters surrounding him. 

But looking at her mother, Emile felt as if she was looking at Neville. They had the same round face and kind eyes, the shape of their faces being the only family resemblance between the three of them. Her eyes were narrowed as she glared across the room at Bellatrix, who was holding her up with a smirk across her pale face.

“The famous Longbottoms,” she sneered, breaking into a laugh. “Not so powerful now, are you?”

Frank Longbottom didn’t respond directly, but the way he looked at Bellatrix and cocked his eyebrows spoke for him. 

“If you want your wand then come and get it,” Bellatrix laughed, tossing the long wand into the air. Rudolphus caught it with a sly grin before tossing it over to Bartemius, who pretended not to notice the wand and caught it a split second before it hit the ground.

“We ought to allow them to speak,” Bartemius said slyly as he straightened up with a grin on his face, twirling the wand between his fingers. “Not like they’ll fight back. And if they try, then we can just freeze them again.”

Nodding, Rodolphus released Frank Longbottom from his binds, and Bellatrix did the same with Alice Longbottom. 

“You cast the dark mark,” Frank started to speak hesitantly. “You wanted us to come here, to you.”

“A little bird told us that you have information on the whereabouts on the Dark Lord,” Rodolphus spoke calmly as Bellatrix flinched beside him, eye flaring at the mention of their leader.

“He’s dead,” Alice Longbottom snapped, her eyes blazing. 

Emile walked next to her mother, passing through Bartemius as she did. He shivered at her touch. 

“Is he?” Bartemius pressed, glancing around the room fervently.

“He was hit by the killing curse,” Frank Longbottom said calmly, putting a hand on his wife's shoulder. “He is dead.”

“You LIE,” Bellatrix shrieked, eyebrows narrowing as she whipped out her wand and pointed it at Emile’s mother. “CRUCIO.”

“No!” Yelled both Frank and Emile, Frank jumping in front of his wife and Emile in front of him.

She winced and closed her eyes as the red sparks shot from the end of Bellatrix’s wand, heading right toward her. But they never touched her. 

The screaming caused her to open her eyes. The shock of red sparks was going straight through her and onto the couple behind her. Alice had grabbed hold of her husband seconds before the curse reached them, and now the two of them were writhing on the floor.

“He is NOT dead! He cannot die!” Bellatrix was screaming. “Crucio! CRUCIO!”

“Bellatrix, we don’t want more Aurors to come!” Bartemius yelled, grabbing hold of her arm. 

Alice Longbottom struggled to sit up, laughing. “You don’t know-”

“Crucio!”

“Bellatrix!”

It was Rodolphus this time who grabbed hold of his wife's hand, lowering her wand and pushing her away. “He has a point. If we get sent to Azkaban then we won’t be able to search for the Dark Lord. If you love him, then you’ll think of him now.”

Alice Longbottom had stopped writhing on the floor. Emile hesitantly knelt next to her mother, reaching her hands towards her face. Her fingers went right through her, but Alice’s eyes snapped open at that moment, locking with Emile’s with a look of horror as she began humming an old nursery rhyme, curling up in the fetal position. 

“Alice?” came a whimper from the man lying next to her.

“LONGBOTTOM.”

The shout came from outside the room, causing the three death eaters to whisk around.

Bartemius’s face had gone pale. “Alastor.”

“Who?” Rodolphus whipped around as Bartemius’s frightened whisper reached his ears, but there was a loud crack as the younger Death Eater disapparated, pulling Emile along with him. 

As she came back to the present, she realized that her hand had stopped moving.

“Emile? Yes, she’s back there.”

“What’s she doing up here?” Nathan’s exasperated sigh reached Emile’s ears as her mother struggled to turn around and look up at Emile.

“She’s visiting her mother,” the healers whispered response was within earshot, which meant they were getting closer.

“Her mother?” Nathan’s shocked whisper rang out across the room as his footsteps grew closer.

Emile pushed her wheelchair back, breathing heavily. Alice Longbottom turned her entire body around to look at her. Their eyes met for a split second, the ditzy brown colliding with the shocked green. Alice let out a scream and pushed herself up the bed, away from Emile, curling up in a ball and humming a nursery rhyme to herself as she trembled vigorously. 

“Em!” Nathan rushed behind the curtain and grabbed hold of her wheelchair.

“Get her out of here!” yelled the healer.

“I’m sorry!” Emile cried out, tears forming in her eyes.

“It’s not your fault,” Nathan responded soothingly. “It happens a lot. We can’t identify the song she sings.”

Emile began to cry as Nathan rolled her out of the ward, making their way down the hall towards the lift.

“Will you tell me why you did this?” Nathan said cautiously as they stood by the sliding golden doors as a ding sounded from behind them.

“I wanted to see my mother, just once,” Emile said quietly as they rolled into the lift.

Nathan nodded as the disembodied voice said, “Floor Zero, Reception and Artefact Accidents.”

When they got back to her hospital room, Nathan helped Emile into her bed before sitting down on the end of it, pulling a sandwich out of his pocket and unwrapping it hastily.

“Lee says he’ll stop in to see you later,” Nat mumbled around a mouthful of corned beef.

“I ought to get back to the burrow,” Emile spoke quietly, wrapping her arms around herself.

Nathan swallowed another mouthful of food before responding. “Don’t worry about that. He said that Mrs. Weasley was going to drop in this evening at his place to pick you up.”

“When did you talk to Lee?” Emile asked curiously, a yawn overtaking her as she spoke.

“He sent me a letter,” Nathan shrugged and emitted a low whistle. “He also said that this belonged to you.”

A rush of brown swept into the room as Achilles shot over to Emile’s bed, landing on her knees and giving a few disapproving clucks of his beak.

“Don’t sass me,” Emile smiled at the owl, wiping her cheeks self consciously. “I’ll be fine.”

The owl bobbed his head several times before flying the few feet to Emile’s nightstand, perching on the empty tea kettle that lay there and closing his large, yellow eyes.

“I don’t think you’ve been fine for a while,” Nathan said quietly, moving further up the bed and putting his arm around her.

“You’ve never been more right,” Emile whispered, leaning against her friend.


	73. Up to Snow Good

Two weeks before Christmas, Emile and Achilles moved back in with the twins. Though she had visited them several times, their visits were usually short due to their tight work schedule. So she offered to come help with the upcoming Christmas season rush.  They were delighted to have her back, and they stayed up til two in the morning talking about her travels. It became apparent to Emile just how much George liked her after his brother went to sleep, and he came in to talk for another half hour. She became a temporary assistant alongside Verity, who, despite her ingenious when it came to solving problems with products in production, couldn’t come up with her own product for the life of her.

“In the muggle world, you could become a patent lawyer,” Emile suggested during a slow day as the two of them stood behind the counter.

“We aren’t in the muggle world,” Verity smiled. “Besides, I don’t think anything related to law is quite for me.”

Emile shrugged and walked over to the back room, where George was taking inventory.

“How is it going back here?” she chirped, sitting down on the top rung of a stepladder.

“You don’t need to check up on me,” George said with a grin. “I can take care of myself. I know how to count.”

Emile gave a small smile. “Yes, but I missed you.”

“You missed Lee more.”

“I missed Bartemius more than both of you combined.”

“Harsh,” Fred laughed, coming down the stairs with a box of Nosebleed Nougats. 

Emile smiled up at him. “I know you guys don’t understand. If I try to explain it to you...well the best explanation I could give you...I would say it’s as if you stopped thinking.”

“But you didn’t,” George argued, looking up from the clipboard he was taking notes on.

“But that’s what it felt like,” Emile argued back.

“I’d be happy to be rid of him, if I were you,” Fred commented as he sat the box down with the others, taking the clipboard from George and making another note.

Emile sighed and stood up. “I don’t know why I bother.”

“Em?” George looked at her as she left the back room, bewilderment in his eyes.

“You are so insensitive, George,” Fred’s scoff echoed in Emile’s ears as she grinned and went over to the window display where a group of children were anxiously babbling to their parents while gesturing toward the pygmy puffs.

On Christmas day the three of them went up to the Burrow to spend the holidays with the Weasley family. Ginny, who was back from school, wrapped her arms around Emile and didn’t let go for a solid five minutes.

“You need to tell me all about America, your letter contained no information at all,” she demanded still embracing Emile. 

Emile laughed and agreed. 

The two of them spent the rest of the day talking about Emile’s trip and Ginny’s relationship with Dean while they made an elaborate and incredibly long paper chain that they later draped over the living room quite lavishly. 

“It looks like a paper chain explosion in here,” Ron groaned when he came into the room with Harry in tow.

Ginny winked at Emile before following the boys into the kitchen, leaving the few who were technically adults to trail behind the group.

“Where’s Hermione?” Emile asked, confused when she didn’t see the bushy haired prefect with the boys.

“There is so much drama you’re missing out on,” Ginny gushed, launching into an elaborate tale of Ron and Quidditch and Lavender Brown while her brother turned red beside her where he and Harry were peeling sprouts.

“Ginny, drop it,” he snapped, face the same shade as his hair.

Harry laughed, eyes flicking from Ron to Ginny as she laughed along with him. Emile raised an eyebrow at the Quidditch Captain, but he didn’t notice.

“Anyways, we wanted to have a serious conversation, if you two wouldn’t mind,” Ron hissed at his sister, reaching for another sprout.

“About?” Emile chirped, leaning forward.

“None of your business,” Ron snapped with a lot less ferociousness than earlier as his eyes locked with her green ones.

“I am a member of the Order,” Emile said hotly. “I think you could trust me with knowledge of whatever mess you’ve gotten yourself into this year.”

“That’s just it,” Ron insisted. “There is no mess. Harry believes there is, but I’m trying to talk him out of it.”

Emile sighed and turned to Ginny, rolling her eyes. “Men. Come on, let’s leave them to their manly bro-handling.”

Rons stutters followed them down the hall as Emile and Ginny ran up to Ginny’s room, breaking into fits of giggles as they collapsed onto their respective beds.

“What are you two on about?” Came a call as George poked his head into the room, followed quickly by Fred. 

“Ron’s girlfriend,” Ginny said with a twinkle in her eye.

Fred’s jaw dropped at the same exact time that George let out a gasp of disbelief. In a flash, the two of them were sitting on either side of Ginny, patiently waiting for more information.

“It feels so good to be the one telling you about his drama for a change,” Ginny laughed, putting her arms around the twins. “So, long story short, Ron played a brilliant Quidditch match and at the after party a certain Lavender Brown snogged him senseless, and they’ve been snogging since.”

“I’m en- _ gross _ ed,” Fred grinned, shooting a glance at George mischievously, who was staring at Ginny with wide eyes.

“Lavender’s that curly haired blonde, right?” George asked, looking over at Emile.

“Don’t look at me!” Emile yelped putting her hands in the air. “I have no idea.”

“Yes, she’s the curly haired blonde,” Ginny said with an eye roll. “I’m not too fond of her.”

“I feel an urge to go talk this out with our little brother,” Fred stated abruptly, turning to George. “Are you coming?”

“Right behind you,” George smirked, following his brother out of the room, pausing in the doorway to turn to Emile. “Hey, we’re heading down into town after, you should join us.”

“Sounds good,” Emile smiled. “I’ll be down in five.”

George gave her a salute before hopping out of the room, his rushed footsteps following his brothers down the hall.

“You’ve got to dress nicely, and warmly,” Ginny insisted, crossing the room swiftly to rummage through the clothes Emile had brought along with her. “And do not wear that hideous old trench coat.” She tossed the offending item out of the suitcase for emphasis.

“What’s wrong with the coat?” Emile objected, catching it in midair with her magic and floating it into her hands.

“It’s old,” Ginny objected as Emile slipped it on, glaring playfully at the fifth year.

“So am I,” she teased back, grabbing her grey scarf and beanie from where they were lying on the floor.

“You’re not old,” Ginny scoffed with an eye roll. 

“Of course not,” Emile grinned and waved at the ginger. “See you later.”

Emile made her way down the stairs, falling withing earshot of the kitchen as she skipped down the hall on the main floor.

“What are you two up to?” asked Ron. “Can’t you help us with these sprouts? You could just use your wand and then we’ll be free too!”�

“No, I don’t think we can do that,” said Fred seriously. “It’s very character-building stuff, learning to peel sprouts without magic, makes you appreciate how difficult it is for Muggles and Squibs —” 

“— and if you want people to help you, Ron,” added George, throwing a paper airplane at Ron as Emile entered the room, “I wouldn’t chuck knives at them. Just a little hint. We’re off to the village, there’s a very pretty girl working in the paper shop who thinks my card tricks are something marvelous . . . almost like real magic. . . .”

“Come on, you sluts,” Emile said with an eye roll, holding the door open for the twins as Ron glared after them darkly.

“Don’t shame us,” Fred said with a wink.

“I don’t have to,” Emile laughed as the three of them made their way down to the village. 

The boys spent a decent amount of time showing off for the girl in the paper shop, which would have been incredibly boring if one of the men working there hadn’t decided to hit on Emile as well. When George finally noticed, long after Fred, how close Emile was standing to the paper boy, he turned red and the three of them left for the greengrocer in a hurry, much to Fred’s entertainment.

“I’m really happy to be back here,” Emile said with a smile as they waltzed up the main road with a bag of salted crisps.

“So are we,” Fred said with a smile as they looked around at the dangling muggle lights.

“It’s been awhile since we actually got a chance to stay with the whole family,” George said as he reached for another handful of crisps.

“When he says ‘whole family,’ he includes you,” Fred said with a wink at Emile.

George turned only a bit red as he grinned back shamelessly.

Emile and Ginny spent the rest of the evening cooking with Mrs. Weasley, Ginny peeling the immense pile of potatoes the boys had dug up for their use. Fleur came in and helped with dessert, though it became quite apparent that Mrs. Weasley was not at all fond of her future daughter-in-law as she mumbled under her breath, mashing potatoes much more vigorously than one normally would. 

Later they all sat, stuffed, in the living room, surrounded by the paper chain explosion and Christmas baubles. Mrs. Weasley had eagerly turned on a broadcast featuring Celestina Warbeck. Fleur, who seemed to find Celestina very dull, was talking so loudly in the corner that a scowling Mrs. Weasley kept pointing her wand at the volume control, so that Celestina grew louder and louder. Under cover of a particularly jazzy number called “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love,” Fred and George started a game of Exploding Snap with Ginny. Remus Lupin just stared into the fire on the side of the room, looking into the depths as though he could not hear Celestina’s voice.

“We danced to this when we were eighteen!” said Mrs. Weasley, wiping her eyes on her knitting. “Do you remember, Arthur?” 

“Mphf?” said Mr. Weasley, whose head had been nodding over the satsuma he was peeling. “Oh yes . . . marvelous tune . . .” 

With an effort, he sat up a little straighter and looked around at Harry, who was sitting next to him, and started to talk about something. Separate from the conversation, Ron was left to continue glancing over at his older brother and his fiance, perhaps hoping to pick up tips.

“Remus,” Emile whispered, tapping the werewolf on the knee.

“Hm?” Remus turned his gaze away from the fire and looked over at Emile. “Oh. Oh no.”

“Oh, yes,” Emile said hotly, crossing her arms.

“Please don’t lecture me about Nymphadora,” Remus begged, putting his hand on his temples. “It’s Christmas.”

“She’s in love!” Emile exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air. “And I think you are, too.”

“Who’s in love?” Fred turned to Emile quickly, eyes sparking with interest.

“None of your business,” Lupin responded hotly, becoming distracted by something Harry was saying to Mr. Weasley. 

“If we’re talking about George, I want in,” Fred teased.

“Who’s talking about me?” George leaned over at the same moment that Lupin turned away from the group and joined Mr. Weasley and Harry. Emile grunted in frustration as she watched Lupin sit down with the two.

“Fred,” Emile responded, shoving said twin in the gut.

“Fred, it’s your turn!” Ginny screeched as the game of exploding snap blew up in Fred’s face as he doubled over, singing his ginger eyebrows. 

Emile and Ginny laughed so hard they snorted, and George began laughing so hard that he cried, his twin lying in shock  his soot stained face inanimate. It took a while for the laughter to die down, and by the time they had enough to look back, Fred had taken to dramatics, which started the chain of laugher over again. 

“Here,” Emile said through chuckles as she took up a handkerchief from her pocket and began wiping the gingers face. 

“Thanks,” He spoke, a puff of smoke coming out of his mouth as he spoke, causing the girls to break into fits of laughter again.

Shortly after this, Fleur decided to imitate Celestina singing “A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love,” which was taken by everyone, once they had glimpsed Mrs. Weasley’s expression, to be the cue to go to bed. 

Emile wasn’t at all very tired, so she stayed to help Mrs. Weasley stow away the dishes.

“The wandless magic never ceases to amaze me,” Mrs. Weasley said as she watched Emile in amazement as she stacked plates in their cupboard.

“It’s not at all that difficult,” Emile said with a smile. “I could teach you.”

“Nonsense,” Molly Weasley laughed, turning back to scrubbing a pan. “I’m too old.”

“You are not old,” Emile scoffed, tapping Mrs. Weasley on the arm with a spoon. “You’re experienced.”

Mrs. Weasley let out a chuckle. “Oh, away with you. Go to bed, presents are tomorrow.”

Emile didn’t want to go to her, Ginny, and Fleur’s room until the girls were asleep and she wouldn’t have to worry about disturbing them. She had learned last night with Ginny that Fleur was quite a heavy sleeper. Ginny had laughed when they dropped three of her textbooks and the blonde failed to wake up, but was unaware that Emile had dropped four while the ginger slept, and both of them had hardly stirred. 

Walking up to the twins room, Emile knocked thrice on the door before stepping in, giving a small yelp and shutting the door quickly as she glimpsed the twins playing chess on the floor in only their shorts.

“You can come in!” They called out in unison.

“Put shirts on!” Emile stage whispered back, leaning against the door.

There was a great deal of rustling, more than one would think is required for getting shirts, before the door opened again, and Emile walked in with crossed arms.

“Don’t look so disgusted with us,” Fred teased.

“Naked is the natural state of a human,” George added stretching his arms upward.

“Don’t you nudists stay up too long,” came a grumble from a cot on the side of the room. Emile just barely caught a glimpse of Bill as he put earplugs in his ears and a sleeping mask over his eyes before slipping underneath the puffy comforter.

“Your brother uses a sleeping mask?” Emile whispered as she sat down between the two gingers.

“Recent development,” George said with an eye roll.

“Since he and Fleur started banging,” Fred said casually, demolishing one of George’s knights with his queen.

“That’s pretty recent,” Emile said with a small smile, floating George’s comforter over to her from his bed and wrapping it around her arms.

“They’ve been together for longer than most couples we know,” Fred said with a shrug. 

“We’re very young,” Emile reminded him.

“That’s not at all very important now, is it?” Fred laughed. 

“I certainly thought I’d be in a relationship by now,” George said with a meaningful look at Fred.

“Me too,” Fred nodded, turning to Emile. “What about you?”

“Well,” Emile frowned at the chessboard, the pawns impatiently hopping in place. “Until the whole Bartemius thing happened, I did want to be in a relationship. But now…”

Fred nodded sympathetically. “And how’s that whole thing working out for you?”

“I haven’t spoken to him since the hospital,” Emile mumbled.

“That was months ago,” George said, frowning. “Isn’t it hard to block him out for so long?”

“It’s exhausting,” Emile whispered, staring off for a moment before shaking her head. “George, move your Rook to F3.”

“Rook to F3,” George chirped, locking Fred’s king in checkmate. 

The two of them high fived while Fred grumbled and cleaned up the chessboard. No one brought up Bartemius for the rest of the night.

When Emile woke up the next morning there was a small pile of parcels at the foot of her cot. Ginny was already excitedly sorting through hers, and Fleur had seemingly opened one and disappeared.

“Bill got her something quite scandalous,” Ginny said with an eye roll when Emile sat up.

Grinning, Emile began sorting through her own pile of presents. There were packages from Mrs. Weasley, the twins, Lee, Ginny, Tonks, Nat, and the Diggory’s, as well as a few unmarked ones. 

“Oh, wow!” 

Emile looked up with a grin as Ginny pulled out a set of metallic butterfly barrettes with large gems laid in them.

“Fleur is really trying to win you over,” Emile said in awe, sifting through the unnamed packages. “Any chance she got me something?”

Ginny laughed and returned to opening her other presents as Emile tore the paper off of the gift from Mrs. Weasley. Sure enough, a large navy sweater sat in between the butcher paper, with a tin of chocolate cauldrons tucked underneath. 

“Brilliant,” Emile said with a smile. “I’m freezing.”

“Why does the color of yours always change?” Ginny groaned, pulling out her own maroon sweater. “Mine alway’s matches Ron’s.”

“I’m sorry,” Emile said, blushing. “It’s probably because of my hair.”

“Oh, right,” Ginny looked up at Emile’s blue hair. “I almost forgot.”

Eile couldn’t help but smile. “Well, that means people are getting used to it.”

“You should go brunette,” Ginny suggested as Emile reached for the package from the twins.

“I’ve considered it,” Emile said with a smile. “I’ll do that next.”

“Blimey,” Ginny held up a perfume shaped bottle with a smirk. “I can’t believe them.”

“Yes, I got that too,” Emile said with a smirk as she held up the perfume. “What is it?”

“Fred and George’s love potion,” Ginny said with an eye roll, jumping up and down on the bed.

“Go to the bathroom,” Emile suggested forcefully, and Ginny left without a complaint.

Smiling, Emile opened up the remaining marked parcels. Tonks had given her a small set of appearance altering potions, with a note to use them wisely. Nat gave her a first aid kit and a book on how to heal common injuries. Ginny gave her a brand new coat, a muggle letterman jacket. The Diggory’s sent over a small amount of galleons and a set of muggle car keys. Lee got her a vial of a silver potion along with her necklace with Felix Felicis, a small note attached to the chain reading ‘It’s good to keep luck around; I almost used it since I’m so unlucky in love.’

“Oh, how adorrrable!” Came a cry from behind her.

Fleur was reading the note over her shoulder, hair in enchanted curlers.

“Isn’t it?” Emile said with a small smile. “I wonder who she is?”

“Don’t be thick,” scoffed Ginny as she came into the room. “We talking about George?”

“Non,” Fleur said with a smirk. “A Lee Jorrrdan.”

Ginny gawked at Emile before re-reading the note.

“Let’s open another present,” Emile interrupted, her face growing very warm as she slipped the golden chain around her neck.

“Yes, let’s,” Ginny said a bit quietly.

Fleur left to finish doing her hair while Emile took out the heaviest parcel. Tearing off the paper revealed a large block of wood with a long feather carved along one side. On the side was a small crack, but besides that the entire surface was smooth. On the inside of the paper was a note.

“So many notes,” Emile complained, showing the parchment to Ginny.

“”Whenever you’re ready. Shikoba,” Ginny read aloud, eyes growing wide. “Shikoba, as in, Shikoba Wolfe?”

“Apparently,” Emile said with a sigh. “What does that mean, whenever you’re ready? Ready for what?”

“Well,” Ginny paused and looked over at Emile, “Do you feel ready now?”

Emile shook her head, placing the block down and floating over a pair of socks for her to wear. “Whatever this is, it can wait. There’s a lot going on I’ve got to prepare for.”

Ginny frowned and nodded as Emile swept out of the room, heading down to the living room where Lupin was talking to the twins. 

“Hey, guys,” she chirped as she walked in.

“Hey, good buddy,” Fred called back, shifting on the sofa with George to make room for her.

“What are we talking about?” Emile chirped as she plopped down on the end next to Fred.

“Molly made me a Christmas sweater but didn’t make one for Fleur,” Remus said with a shake of his head. “She’s just fueling the flames with actions such as these.”

“Well, you’d know a lot about that, wouldn’t you?” Emile asked pointedly, crossing her arms.

“We are not talking about this again,” Remus snapped. “Emile, I thought you had more respect for your elders.”

Emile, Fred, and George all laughed.

“So, what have you been up to?” Fred asked Lupin as their giggles subsided, wiping tears from his eyes.

“Oh, I’ve been underground,” said Lupin, looking a bit peeved at their reaction to his previous comment. “Almost literally.”

“What does that mean?” George asked eagerly.

Emile leaned forward. “Is it something Dumbledore’s asked you to do?”

Lupin nodded. “I’ve been living among my fellows, my equals. Werewolves. Nearly all of them are on Voldemort’s side. Dumbledore wanted a spy and here I was . . . ready-made.” 

“You sound bitter,” Fred said bluntly.

“I am not complaining; it is necessary work and who can do it better than I?” Lupin tried to defend himself. “However, it has been difficult gaining their trust. I bear the unmistakable signs of having tried to live among wizards, you see, whereas they have shunned normal society and live on the margins, stealing — and sometimes killing — to eat.” 

“How come they like Voldemort?” Ginny asked, coming into the room with Arnold, her pygmy puff, on her shoulder.

“They think that, under his rule, they will have a better life,” said Lupin. “And it is hard to argue with Greyback out there. . . .” 

“Fenrir Greyback?” Emile asked curiously.

“You’ve been doing some research I see,” Lupin said with a smirk.

“No,” Emile shook her head. “I’ve been having educational dreams.”

“What does that mean?” George asked, leaning around his brother to look at Emile.

Emile paused for a moment, unsure of how to explain it. “It’s like, hallucinating history? I don’t know. I’m basically seeing Bartemius’s memories in my sleep.”

“You can’t block him out as easily when you sleep,” Lupin said worriedly. “Perhaps you ought to visit with Severus.”

“I’m fine,” Emile said sharply. “It’s nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”

“BREAKFAST IS READY.”

Mrs. Weasley’s shout saved Emile from getting pestered with any more prying questions.

Everybody was wearing new sweaters when they all sat down for Christmas brunch, everyone except Fleur and Mrs. Weasley herself, who was sporting a brand-new midnight blue witch’s hat glittering with what looked like tiny starlike diamonds, and a spectacular golden necklace. 

“Fred and George gave them to me! Aren’t they beautiful?” 

“Well, we find we appreciate you more and more, Mum, now we’re washing our own socks,” said George, waving an airy hand. “Parsnips, Remus?” 

“Harry, you’ve got a maggot in your hair,” said Ginny cheerfully, leaning across the table to pick it out. 

Emile couldn’t help but smile at how the sixth year froze when the ginger female came remotely close to him.

“ ’Ow ’orrible,” said Fleur, with an affected little shudder. 

“Yes, isn’t it?” said Ron. “Gravy, Fleur?” 

In his eagerness to help her, he knocked the gravy boat flying; Bill waved his wand and the gravy soared up in the air and returned meekly to the boat. 

“You are as bad as zat Tonks,” said Fleur to Ron, when she had finished kissing Bill in thanks. “She is always knocking —” 

“I invited dear Tonks to come along today,” said Mrs. Weasley, setting down the carrots with unnecessary force and glaring at Fleur. “But she wouldn’t come. Have you spoken to her lately, Remus?” 

“No, I haven’t been in contact with anybody very much,” said Lupin. “But Tonks has got her own family to go to, hasn’t she?” 

“Hmmm,” said Mrs. Weasley, cast Emile a knowing look. “Maybe. I got the impression she was planning to spend Christmas alone, actually.” 

She gave Lupin an annoyed glare that was reflected by Emile. The werewolf shifted uncomfortably in his seat under the pressure of the glares of the two witches. 

“Tonks’s Patronus has changed its form,” Harry informed them. “Snape said so anyway. I didn’t know that could happen. Why would your Patronus change?” 

Emile tried not to laugh and praise Merlin for the famous Chosen One. He didn’t even know how much he was helping them. 

Lupin took his time chewing his turkey and swallowing before saying slowly, “Sometimes . . . a great shock . . . an emotional upheaval . . .” 

“It looked big, and it had four legs,” said Harry, frowning at Lupin.

Movement outside the window distracted Emile, and she squinted out into the yard.

“Arthur!” said Molly Weasley suddenly. She rose from her chair; her hand was pressed over her heart and she was staring out of the kitchen window. “Arthur — it’s Percy!” 

“What?” Mr. Weasley looked around. Everybody looked quickly at the window; Ginny stood up for a better look. There, sure enough, was Percy Weasley, striding across the snowy yard, his horn-rimmed glasses glinting in the sunlight. He was not, however, alone. 

“Arthur, he’s — he’s with the Minister!” 

“This can’t be good,” Fred mumbled to George, who frowned back before casting the same confused glance at Emile. She shrugged as the back door swung open, Percy Weasley standing in its awning.

There was a moment’s painful silence. Then Percy said rather stiffly, “Merry Christmas, Mother.” 

“Oh, Percy!” said Mrs. Weasley, and she threw herself into his arms. 

Rufus Scrimgeour paused in the doorway, leaning on his walking stick and smiling as he observed this affecting scene. 

“You must forgive this intrusion,” he said, when Mrs. Weasley looked around at him, beaming and wiping her eyes. “Percy and I were in the vicinity — working, you know — and he couldn’t resist dropping in and seeing you all.” 

But Percy showed no sign of wanting to greet any of the rest of the family. He stood, poker-straight and awkward-looking, and stared over everybody else’s heads. Mr. Weasley, Fred, and George were all observing him, stony-faced. Ginny was slowly reaching for her spoon, the only utensil she had within arms reach.

“Please, come in, sit down, Minister!” fluttered Mrs. Weasley, straightening her hat. “Have a little purkey, or some tooding. . . . I mean —” 

“No, no, my dear Molly,” said Scrimgeour. “I don’t want to intrude, wouldn’t be here at all if Percy hadn’t wanted to see you all so badly. . . .” 

“Oh, Perce!” said Mrs. Weasley tearfully, reaching up to kiss him. 

“. . . We’ve only looked in for five minutes, so I’ll have a stroll around the yard while you catch up with Percy. No, no, I assure you I don’t want to butt in! Well, if anybody cared to show me your charming garden . . . Ah, that young man’s finished, why doesn’t he take a stroll with me?”

The atmosphere around the table changed perceptibly. Everybody looked from Scrimgeour to Harry. Nobody seemed to find Scrimgeour’s pretense that he did not know Harry’s name convincing, or find it natural that he should be chosen to accompany the Minister around the garden when Ginny, Fleur, and George also had clean plates. 

“Yeah, all right,” said Harry into the silence. 

Lupin half rose in his chair, frowning at the Minister.

“It’s fine,” Harry said calmly.

Mr. Weasley opened his mouth to speak.

“Fine,” Harry insisted, staring down the older man, who nodded in response.

“Wonderful!” said Scrimgeour, standing back to let Harry pass� through the door ahead of him. “We’ll just take a turn around the garden, and Percy and I’ll be off. Carry on, everyone!” 

As soon as the left the room Lupin rose to his feet, grabbing the half empty bowl of mashed parsnips.

“I do believe this needs a refill, Molly,” he insisted.

“Oh, oh of course,” Molly Weasley didn’t even glance at the bowl as she stood up, stroking her rebel sons hair.

“No need to get up, Emile knows where it is, I believe,” Lupin said with a meaningful glance at Emile.

“I’ll help, yes,” Emile nodded quickly and stood up, leaving the Weasley family to stare coldly at their brother, lips pressed tightly together.

Mrs. Weasley questioning Percy about his job and living situation dimly echoed down the hall as Lupin and Emile headed into the kitchen.

“Blimey,” Emile muttered, shaking her head.

“I’ve got to send a message to Dumbledore,” Lupin mumbled, pulling out his wand. “You actually fill the parsnips.”

“Thanks,” Emile said coldly, heading back towards the kitchen, which was uncomfortably close to the dining room.

“Wait,” Lupin grabbed her arm with his free hand as he held his wand aloft. “Open the kitchen window, see if you can hear what they’re talking about.”

Emile smiled wryly and nodded, stepping into the warm kitchen and unlocking the window. Besides a chill breeze and a few murmurs, it was impossible to hear what the minister was saying to Harry Potter, the considerably loud talking from the dining room providing a distraction as well.

Swearing silently to herself, Emile made her may back into the dining room with the parsnips in time to see Mr Weasley, Fred, George, and Ginny all yelling at their brother whilst Mrs. Weasley sobbed behind them with Ron, who wasn’t getting involved but looked incredibly murderous.

“You ungrateful twat,” Ginny was spitting, catching sight of Emile standing, dumbfounded with the bowl of parsnips. “Em, give me that.”

“Um, no,” Emile said, holding the bowl against her chest.

“He insulted mum,” Fred said, eyes blazing. 

Emile frowned at the older Weasley, placing the bowl on the table between Fleur and Bill.

“No, keep me out of this,” Bill attempted to start, but it was too late. 

Grabbing spoons and forks, Ginny and the twins scooped up mashed turnips and began flinging spoonfuls at their brother.

“You dare attack the assistant of the Minister of Magic!” Percy bellowed, wiping parsnip off of his horn rimmed glasses. A splatter on his hair served as his answer.

Mr. Weasley sat back and watched as his children assaulted each other with food. Ron, who looked eager to join, was being held back by his mother. Bill was escorting Fleur out of the room, protecting her from the parsnip splatter everywhere.

Percy broke free of the trio, stomping outside with a beet red face. En masse, those left in the dining room followed him to the door, ready to fling more food, before stopping, none of them dressed for the cold.

“Weasley?” Rufus was frowning at the Weasley as he stomped towards the edge of the yard. 

“We are leaving,” Percy seethed, receiving very odd looks from Harry as he walked over to the doorway, where Fred, George, and Ginny still stood with their utensils.

“Give me the bowl, I can hit him from here,” Ginny said eagerly, angling her spoon as her brother and the Minister retreated down the road.

“I can’t, it’s gone,” Fred snapped.

“What do you mean the bowl’s gone,” George cried out, whirling around.

“How are you doing that?” Harry asked curiously as he watched Emile carefully float the half full bowl of parsnips above Percy’s head. A split second before he turned on his heels to disapparate, she dropped it upside down on his head. The Weasley let out a cry of disgust as there was a loud crack and both he and the minister vanished from sight.

Grinning up at Harry, Emile pretended to blow out a finger gun. “Magic.


	74. Nymphadora

Tonks’s hair was incredibly mousy and flat. Her eyes were dull and grey. But she smiled wide when Emile came into the Three Broomsticks with her pouch swinging from her hands and Achilles perched on her shoulder. 

“Em!” She said with a grin, handing her a warm butterbeer. “It’s been too long.”

“I haven’t seen you since I left Britain,” Emile agreed, taking a sip of her butterbeer.

Tonks nodded. “I’ve heard so many little rumors about your trip, you must explain further.”

“It feels like I have to explain it to everyone I see,” Emile said with a small smile. “Hard to believe that I was gone only four months ago.”

Tonks smiled as she took a sip of her butterbeer. “And how are Ginny and the kids doing?”

“You make it sound like Harry and Ron are Ginny’s kids,” Emile laughed. “No, they’re good. Still running that illegal group behind Umbridge’s back.”

“Wow,” Tonks smirked, shaking her head. “Never know when that information can come in handy, right?”

“A group of angsty teenagers performing Defense Against the Dark Arts spells in a hidden room is bound to end well,” Emile teased as she took another sip of her butterbeer. On her shoulder, Achilles bobbed his head in agreement.

It was mid January. Hogsmeade was still coated in a layer of frosty snow, and the inns and taverns gave off a warm yellow glow. Emile had been uncertain of what she ought to do next, so Remus and Molly recommended she write to Dumbledore. The Headmaster tasked her with joining Tonks on guard duty, allowing one of the aurors previously assigned the opportunity to take a much needed vacation with his wife.

Dumbledore, thanks to a psychological evaluation presented to him by Remus Lupin, decided that it would be best if Emile resumed lessons with Severus Snape. The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher would be stopping by the room Emile was to share with Tonks every Tuesday, much to Emile’s displeasure. 

“So, what exactly am I doing?” Emile asked curiously.

Tonks put down her butterbeer, wiping a foam mustache off of her upper lip. “Well, we regularly patrol the Hogwarts and Hogsmeade boundary, checking on the protection charms and intruder charms. Sometimes, if we hear some sort of ghastly rumor, someone will go investigate it. That’s how Dawlish found out about the Werewolf rebellion a day before Remus reported it.”

“Rebellion?” Emile looked at the auror, shocked.

“I might be exaggerating slightly,” Tonks said with a grin. “They are gathering and getting organized, but they haven’t done anything yet.”

“You should leave Remus to take care of that,” Emile suggested lightly, seeing the anxiousness in Tonks eyes. 

“It’s hard to,” She said with a sigh, slouching over. 

Emile couldn’t help but smile at the auror. The old Tonks slouched like that, and that meant something must be going well.

“I couldn’t help but notice you avoided us during Christmas,” Emile pressed further.

“Did I miss anything?” she questioned, not at all particularly interested.

“Percy came back.”

“Oh no, I’ve got to go visit Molly.”

“It’s alright, he left in quite a hurry.” Emile mused.

Tonks grinned down at Emile. “I have no doubt of that.”

Emile swirled the butterbeer around her cup before looking up at Tonks again. “Tell me honestly that you didn’t come because Remus Lupin was there.”

Tonks gave a low grumble as she slouched further in her seat, mousy brown hair falling dangerously close to the brim of the cup she was holding.

“That's what I thought,” Emile stated with a small smirk, taking a final gulp of her butterbeer that was a bit overlarge. As she sat in her chair, coughing hard enough to peeve off Achilles, Tonks let out a small smile from across the table.

“Karma,” she teased in a sing songy voice as she leaned over and gave Emile a few helpful thumps on the back.

“Thanks,” Emile whispered hoarsely.

“Don’t mention it,” Tonks smirked. 

“Don’t mention Remus?”

Tonks sighed and raised one hand to her temples, rubbing them in circles. “This is going to be a long month.”

“Would you love me if I didn’t make it so?” Emile said with a grin as the two of them stood up from the table, Tonks leaving a small stack of sickles and knuts on the wooden surface.

“I don’t love,” Tonks said flippantly, leading her out onto the street. 

“We know that’s a lie,” Emile shot back teasingly, following the auror with Achilles, who gave a small hoot of agreement.

“Don’t sass me,” Tonks scoffed at the owl, who gave a throaty shriek before promptly coughing up a pellet, the bundle of hair and bones landing by Tonks feet. The auror pinched her nose, a disgusted expression on her face as Emile laughed so hard she felt tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

Tonks led Emile to the Hogs Head, the sketchy bar that Harry Potter had announced his idea for the DA in. The auror nodded at the bartender as they walked in, and he gave a tiny nod back as she swept past the bar with Emile, heading into the back room.

“What is this?” Emile said with a frown, glancing around the room.

“Hush,” Tonks said in a low voice, pulling out her wand and shooting a spark up at the ceiling. A set of floorboards rose up into the air, and a long rope ladder unfurled.

“Brilliant,” Emile said admiringly.

“Up,” was all Tonks said, her eyes warily watching the door to the room they were in. 

Emile scrambled up the ladder, Achilles digging his talons into her shoulder to keep from falling. A moment later, Tonks hopped up into the hidden attic, closing the trapdoor behind her. As the door clicked shut, a blinding ball of light exploded out of nowhere, filling the room with light and wind that nearly swept Emile off of her feet.

“Think of Grimmuald place!” Tonks shrieked over the wind to Emile, who immediately attempted to recall all she could about the house Sirius had called home. To her surprise, the wind began to die down and the light ebbed away until it revealed its source, a flickering white flame in a copper lamp hanging from the ceiling, directly in front of a large wooden door.

Tonks reached forward and tapped the door on three distinct knots of wood, forming a triangular shape. Immediately, a round doorknob appeared on the side of the door.

“This feels like an excessively large amount of security,” Emile complained as Tonks gave her a half amused glance, swinging the door open. From inside came the smell of roast beef and pie, and a half amused laugh rang out. 

The long attic in front of Emile closely resembled a house common room, with a flickering fireplace and long table surrounded by comfortable chairs. A plump, leather sofa leaned against the heavily curtained wall next to a bookcase, and across a small kitchenette was obviously hard at work preparing food. On the other side of the room were two doors, one with a large pointed witches hat engraved in it and another with a slouched wizards hat. 

Dawlish, the auror, was hastily speaking with a house elf who was working the kitchenette whilst Alastor Moody slouched in an armchair, natural eye scanning a large dusty book in front of him as the other blinked over at Emile and Tonks.

“Nymphadora!” Dawlish greeted the auror with a grin as she led Emile over to the door with the witches hat. “Alastor said he saw you outside. You didn’t have any trouble with the flame, did you?”

“Would I be here if I had?” Tonks said with an eye roll, winking at Emile as she pushed open the door.

Tonks led Emile over to a rickety four poster bed on one side of the room, adjusting the curtains covering the wall as she did so.

“What’s with all the curtains?” Emile asked curiously, sitting down on the end of the bed and removing Achilles wooden perch from her pouch. 

“Alastor can be a bit paranoid,” Tonks explained as she turned back around. “He thinks it’ll absorb the noise of his tantrums better, as if we aren’t already cloaked in all the blanketing and silencing charms the ministry has to offer.”

“This is really nice,” Emile said with a grateful smile.

Tonks shrugged. “Dumbledore put it together. It’s all going when term ends, there won’t be any need of this stuff anymore. We’ll be moving back into Grimmuald Place, hopefully.”

“Hopefully,” Emile nodded, watching Achilles fly over to the perch she attached to her nightstand.

A thump on the door caused the two of them to jump.

“Are you two old ladies going to stand there gossiping all day?” came the familiar growl of Alastor Moody.

“Are you going to stay inside reading all day?” Tonks yelled back, rolling her eyes at Emile. Hunching over, she pushed open the door to their bedroom, wagging a finger at the older auror. “Constant vigilance.” 

Mad Eye Moody gave a throaty laugh before thumping over to Dawlish, grumbling about the food.

“Who else is here?” Emile asked curiously as she sat down at the long table with Tonks.

“Right now?” Tonks sighed and rubbed her temple with one hand, squinting across the room. “The four of us, and Dumbledore’s supposed to send over someone else.”

Just then a loud slam came from the hall, causing Tonks to jump around, eyes narrowed at the thick wooden entrance. Mad Eye Moody, Emile noticed, muttered something to Dawlish before thumping away towards the room for wizards. 

“Tonks,” Emile said hesitantly, placing her hand on the aurors arm as the door swung open, white light illuminating the tall figure of Remus Lupin.

“Tonks,” Emile said again, but the auror did not react as harshly as Emile expected. She simply turned back around and sat at the table, a frosty silence spreading between her and the werewolf. 

“Emile?” Remus started heading across the room to her.

“Door,” Emile called back, standing up and walking towards him.

Remus paused, tilting his head towards her. “Pardon?”

Emile sighed and put one hand on her hip, flicking the other hand through the air. Immediately the thick wooden door slammed shut, causing Dawlish to jump and land on the house elves foot. 

“Ah,” Was all Remus said as the sound of the house elves howling filled the still space, followed by Dawlish’s squeaky voice apologizing profusely. 

“What is this?” Emile asked bluntly, staring the werewolf up and down as she crossed her arms.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lupin asked hotly, dropping his canvas suitcase with a loud thump. 

“What are you doing here?” Emile pressed, taking a step closer to Remus Lupin.

Lupin grumbled and stuck his hands in his pockets. “Dumbledore asked me to come.”

“Did he really,” Emile scoffed, raising her eyebrows and cocking her head to the side.”

“I do not have to explain myself to a wizard barely out of school,” Lupin scoffed back, grabbing his bag and straightening back up. “Excuse me while I go to get settled in.”

“Mhm,” was all Emile said as she watched the older man cross the room to the hall for wizards before slumping over in a chair next to Tonks. 

“Well,” she started hesitantly, glancing at the auror. 

“What?” Tonks asked, stone faced. 

“Nothing,” Emile shrugged, turning away from the auror.

After a moment of silence she snuck a glance at her older friend. There were no tears on Tonks cheeks, but her eyebrows were knit in a tight scowl.

“You can’t tell me you’re ok with this,” Emile pressed, leaning closer to the auror.

“This is-” Tonks stopped herself and took a steadying breath, refusing to meet Emile’s gaze. “It’s fine.”

Emile gave an unconvinced grunt and the two of them fell into a sticky silence, the continued noise from the house elf drifting across the room.

Over the course of the next few days Tonks and Remus managed to avoid each other as much as possible. When they were in close proximity of each other, Tonks acted as if Remus didn’t exist and Remus made up for the awkwardness with jokes poor in quality and timing. Dawlish avoided everyone in an attempt to stay free of the drama and Alastor hardly said a word to anyone unless he caught you on your own, in which case it was hard to get him to stop over-sharing personal stories he claimed were filled with life lessons and important information.

Severus Snape had been visiting regularly, to ‘help’ Emile through her block with Bartemius. Much to her pleasure and Snape’s disappointment, Emile had become good enough of a legimence to keep Snape from discovering why she was blocking Bartemius, but not from keeping much else from him.

“Miss Gorska,” he sighed towards the end of another grueling visit. “We cannot help you if you do not open up to us.”

“I don’t need your help,” Emile scoffed, crossing her arms. “You can’t help me.”

The dark haired professor frowned before looking down at the essay he was grading. They were sitting at the large wooden table in the base, Emile helping Snape grade papers. Tonks was cooking in the kitchen with the house elf, and the other stationed people were out on patrol. It was relatively quiet; something that didn’t happen often these days.

“How is everyone at the school?” Emile asked quietly as she pulled out an essay of Ginny’s. 

“Rather dull,” Snape said stiffly. “There is, however, a love triangle. Miss Granger is incredibly jealous of Mister Weasley and Miss-”

“Lavender Brown,” Emile interrupted, shooting the professor a grin as he shot her a glare. “I’m not that behind on drama, give me something new. What does Dumbledore think the Death Eaters are up to? It’s got to have something to do with Hogwarts, otherwise there wouldn’t be so many of us stationed here.”

Snape was silent for a moment, the only sign that he wasn’t dead being his dark eyes slowly skimming the essay in front of him.

“They’re all so stupid,” he murmured sadly, writing a large D at the top of the roll of parchment in bright red ink.

“Severus,” Emile called in a sing song voice, waving her hand in front of his face.

“I have nothing to say on the matter, so I say nothing,” Snape gave Emile a pointed look before turning back to the pile of papers before him.

From across the room, Tonks let out a small giggle, catching Emile’s eye with a wink in her direction. Emile rolled her eyes and returned to grading Ginny’s essay.

Over the course of her stay Emile began seeing more and more of Tonks, who didn’t want to remain on her own in case Remus attempted to talk to her. She was constantly checking up on her while she was patrolling Hogsmeade or checking on the castle, hair sometimes filled with small, barely visible, streaks of vibrant red. Emile was getting fed up with the amount of time she had to spend with the older woman, and felt very bad about it.

“Emile!”

Trying not to groan, Emile turned around to see Tonks slinking towards her. Emile had been checking out the castle gate with Dawlish, eager to get a chance to get to know the small, jumpy auror. Apparently she wouldn’t get to.

“What is it?” Emile asked as Tonks reached the pair of them, giving Dawlish a small smile. 

“Alastor needed your help,” She said with a small smile.

Mumbling something about the poor timing of the summon since he’d already walked all the way to the castle, Dawlish began to wander back down the cobblestone road to the warmly lit town.

“Why are you chasing him away this time,” Emile said in a somewhat bored voice.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Tonks said, refusing to become downhearted by Emile’s attitude. “Achilles brought you a letter from George. He says that he n’ Fred will be in Hogsmeade the first of March.”

“Typical of them to visit the day we actually have to keep an eye on the students visiting,” Emile said with an eye roll.

“Oh, right,” Tonks said with a small frown. “Alastor says Dumbledore is planning on cancelling the Hogsmeade trips, after what happened to that Katie Bell girl.”

Emile let out a grunt of acknowledgment as the sight of Achilles flying towards the pair of them caught her attention. Not bothering to respond, she raised her arm for her owl to land on. A rustle of feather later the familiar brown shape of Achilles graced her arm, bobbing his slender head and hiving off low hoots.

“Something wrong?” Emile asked, confused, as the owl climbed onto her shoulders and turned his big yellow eyes at Tonks.

Blinking, he puffed up his feathers and let out a shriek. 

“Achilles,” Emile scolded, bopping him on the beak with her hand. He sunk his head into his neck and glared at her threateningly.

“Don’t give me that look” Emile frowned. “You know Tonks.”

“Thats right, Achilles,” Tonks scoffed, crossing her arms with a smirk. “You know me.”

Achilles gave a low rumble in the depths of his gizzard as he slowly turned to the auror.

“Achilles!” Emile huffed, shrugging so that he lost his balance and fell against the side of her head. “You watch yourself.”

Clucking his beak, the Boreal turned so that his body was facing forward before swiveling his head around and glaring at Tonks more.

“He’s in a bad mood,” Tonks observed, glancing warily at the owl.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into him,” Emile said with a frown, shaking her head as they walked up to the castle gates, Emile pausing by the thick iron bars. 

“What is it?” Tonks asked curiously as Emile stared up at the outline of the castle. 

“I miss school,” Emile said quietly, absentmindedly rubbing her hand against the cold iron gate.

“You’re odd,” Tonks laughed, rolling her eyes. “What kind of youth misses school?”

“I don’t miss having to go to class,” Emile objected, eyebrows knitting together as she turned to the auror. “I just miss being safe.”

Tonks, oddly enough, simply shrugged and continued waltzing past the castle gates. Achilles let out a low grumble in the depths of his throat as his yellow eyes followed the auror down the road. 

“Maybe having Remus around is affecting her more than she’s willing to let on?” Emile murmured to the owl. 

He turned his big yellow eyes towards her and blinked them twice.

“You’re no help,” she scolded the owl, shaking her head.

“With what?” 

Trying not to groan, Emile turned to face Tonks, hair considerably darker than it had been moments ago.

“Have a run in with Remus?” Emile asked, crossing her arms.

Tonks flushed, face turning red. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I just… I just came to check up on you after Dawlish came into the village on his own.”

“Um, you sent him away?” Emile frowned at the auror. “Honestly, Tonks, if there’s too much going on you aught to take a break, go to your parents for a few days.”

“I’m fine,” the auror snapped, temper flaring. As if to prove her point, she pulled out her wand and marched along the wall in the opposite direction she had been heading in moments ago.

“Already check the other side?” Emile called in a bored voice. 

Tonks gave her a patronizing look before returning to the wall, wand in hand as she slowly disappeared behind the curving wall.

“What's that supposed to mean?!” Emile cried out, throwing her hands in the air as best as she could without disturbing Artemis. The owl clucked his beak disapprovingly as she paced outside the gate, seething.

“Em?”

“What now?” Emile whipped around to find Remus Lupin standing in front of her. “Merlin, leave me out of your drama, you two! I’ve got enough going on!”

Remus stood in the center of the road, mouth slightly open as Emile marched past him, heading back down the hill she had just come up. Much to her disappointment, Remus ran up behind her a moment later. 

“Is Nymphadora acting a bit oddly recently, or is that just me?” He asked in a low voice.

“Of course she’s acting oddly,” Emile scoffed, Achilles turning to face the werewolf with a look of disdain. “You’re here.”

“No, I mean apart from that,” Remus said in a somewhat scathing voice, looking down at Emile with a dull expression. “Stop acting like a child and pay attention.”

“I don’t act like a-”

“Tonks actually spoke with me today,” Remus interrupted, silencing Emile with a flick of his wand.

With a wave of her own hands, Emile removed the silencing charm Remus had placed upon her, grumbling.

“We had a normal conversation,” Remus continued, a confused expression on his face as they headed down to the village. He was too distracted with his thoughts to notice Emile slowly removing his wand from his pocket and tucking it in her own.

“We haven’t talked normally in months, and she asked me how I was,” Remus continued, oblivious to the thievery taking place beside him.

“Is it a crime to ask?” Emile said in a bored voice, pulling the wand out and holding it up to the light to examine the fine tool.

“She’s been acting like it might as well be for months,” Remus retorted, sticking his hands in his pockets. “And suddenly she starts talking to me? It’s odd.”

“Is that all that’s bugging you?” Emile sighed, closing one eye and looking down at the wand. 

“Halfway through a rather decent conversation she just runs off down the street, before reappearing in a very bad mood and resuming her feigned ignorance of my existence,” Remus explained, sighing.

“Remus,” Emile sighed, pocketing the wand and putting her arm around the much taller older man with great difficulty. “Women have mood swings. You’re overthinking this the same way you’re overthinking being with her.”

“I am not overthinking this,” Remus scoffed, shrugging Emile’s arm off with a frown.

“Whatever,” Emile rolled her eyes as they approached their base, pulling the wand out of her pocket. “Keep an eye on Tonks from a distance if it makes you suffer more. And polish your wand, it’s beginning to look as old as you.”

With a disbelieving snort, Remus snatched the wand away from Emile and marched inside, bristling. 

Over the course of the next few weeks the werewolf persisted with bugging Emile with his concerns for Tonks, who was acting a bit odd every now and then but besides that seemed her usual sullen self. Emile anxiously awaited March first, the day the twins were set to visit Hogsmeade. Mad Eye’s prediction turned out correct, and Dumbledore cancelled the Hogsmeade trip for the students, giving Emile more time to spend with friends that were more her age, and more drama free.

The first thing Fred did upon seeing her was punch her in the arm. Hard.

“What the hell?” Emile groaned, rubbing her upper arm with one hand.

“I’m upset,” Fred huffed, slouching down next to her. The three of them were sitting by the large table in the base.

“Don’t take it out on me,” Emile huffed, standing up from the table. “I’ll go make some tea, you guys get comfortable.”

“I’ll help,” George chirped, quickly hopping up from his seat and following Emile over to the kitchenette. 

The house elf who worked there was momentarily sleeping under the sink, in a pile of dirty washcloths. Unwilling to disturb it, Emile got to work making the tea herself. George watched her silently as she filled a large, rusty tea kettle with water and placed it onto the lit stove.

“So,” George asked hesitantly as Emile hopped up onto the kitchenette counter.

“So,” she responded with a smile, looking at his freckled face as she swung her legs back and forth.

“How have you been?” George asked with a smirk as he hopped up onto the counter opposite of her. 

Emile shrugged. “Alright. You?”

George also shrugged, looking down at his lap.

“What’s got Fred all worked up?” Emile asked with a glance back at the other twin, who was impatiently tapping the wooden table with the tip of his wand.

“Oh, that,” George let out a sigh as he sunk against the wall behind him. “We were considering buying Zonkos, but it’s not worth it. Load of good it’ll do us if the kids can’t even come down to Hogsmeade anymore.”

“What, you two need more money?” Emile attempted to tease with a small smile.

“In all honesty, we’re a bit bored of all this money,” George sighed. “It doesn’t make you happy for long.”

“First world problems,” said Emile, sadly shaking her head. 

“Shut up, you,” George smirked and kicked out with his foot, nudging Emile in the leg. “Hows wand making going?”

“It’s, um,” Emile raised her hand and scratched her eyebrow as she searched for words, “it’s going.”

“It’s gone,” George concluded with a smirk.

“I had an idea for a wand,” Emile continued with a glare at the ginger. “But I can’t figure out how to put it together.”

“Well,” George stared at Emile as if he was unsure how to continue the conversation. “Hows that block of wood from Shikoba coming along?”

“It’s still there, being a block of wood,” Emile said with a smirk. “I don’t think I’ll figure out what it means anytime soon.”

“What was it that she wrote on the parchment?”

“‘Whenever you’re ready.’”

“Well, do you feel ready?”

Emile let out a long, cold laugh. George had no idea what was coming for her in the not so distant future. “Hell no.”

The whistling of the tea kettle gave Emile the opportunity to change the topic of the conversation as she called out to Fred, asking for his favorite tea. As he shouted back a response, Emile was very much aware of George’s concerned eyes boring into the back of her head.

“I’ve actually been thinking about Ollivander quite a lot recently,” Emile said softly as she waved her hand, sending teacups over to the table. “I was thinking that I could go visit his son, see if he has any ideas of what could have happened to his father, or if he could help me with the wand dilemma.”

“What exactly is the wand dilemma?” George asked curiously as they walked over to the table, Emile summoning a small tray of sandwiches out of the fridge as an afterthought.

Emile paused at the head of the table, uncertain whether she ought to be honest or not.

“What's a dilemma?” Fred yawned to George as the teapot went around, filling everyone's cups to the brim.

“It’s nothing,” Emile said quickly, sitting down and reaching for the sugar bowl. “Well, it’s something. Something that I think could help in the near future, but I don’t want to get your guyses hopes up by telling you what it is. Merlin, I don’t even know if I’ll be able to make it.”

Fred and George looked at each other and shrugged in mutual agreement of their defeat. Emile leaned back in her chair and let out a low sigh of relief. They believed her, which was not good. The back of her head pounded with the pain of a never ending migraine as she forced herself to smile and talk with her closest friends.


	75. The Spawn of Ollivander

Garrick Ollivander Jr. looked exactly like his father at a younger age. At least, that’s what Tonks said once the pair of them apparated to his household. Nymphadora Tonks had insisted on accompanying Emile on her trip to Godrics Hollow, where the older man lived in the family house. 

George, much to his brothers disappointment, had also insisted on coming along. He was standing behind Emile, uncomfortable close to her back. Once the mere presence of George had been enough for Emile’s heart to stop, but now she felt nothing but a flash of annoyance. This would be simpler if she had come alone, why did they have to trail along after her?

She watched from the corner of her eyes as George pulled a metal water bottle from the pockets of his dragonskin suit and took a long gulp, grimacing.

“Not used to drinking water?” Emile teased, pushing aside her disgruntled feelings.

“You know me,” George smirked down at her. “I’ve never been all that tolerant of a healthy lifestyle.”

“Isn’t that an understatement,” Emile chortled back, making brief eye contact with Tonks as both she and the ginger laughed. The metamorphus gave a sigh and turned away from the two of them, watching out the window of the wooden house they were in.

“Tonks?” Emile asked quietly, taking a step closer. “You alright?”

“Constant vigilance,” Tonks whispered, eyes flickering up and down the street in front of her.

Emile cast a concerned look at George, who was not paying attention, to her surprise. He had walked over the one of the large bookshelves on the side of the room and was reading it over, eyes lighting up with interest as he pulled a dark green book off of the wall.

“Em, check it out,” he whispered excitedly, beckoning her over as he flipped the book open.

Casting one more lingering look at Tonks, Emile walked over to George, craning her neck to look at the cover of the book in his hands.

“George, what the hell?” Emile’s eyes widened with shock as she looked from the title to George and back again.

“What did I do?” George frowned at her, a glint in his eyes. “This is fascinating stuff.”

“I’m not going to read ‘The Darkness Within; Dark Wands and How To Make Them.” Emile snapped, grabbing the book from his hands and thrusting it back onto the shelf.

“You could use information like this against the enemy,” George argued, bristling.

Emile narrowed her eyes at the twin. This was uncharacteristic behaviour, even for one of the infamous Weasley twins. As low as they may have gone, they would never stoop this low.

George was saved from a lecture by a bang as the door to the study swung open, revealing the silhouette of Garrick Ollivander Jr. and his two children, eight year old Cassandra and seven old Garrick, who everyone referred to as Gary. 

The children ran inside, squealing as they caught sight of Emile, while Tonks drew the curtains in the room and helped Garrick Jr. with the teapots and cups he was holding.

“Hey you two,” Emile laughed as Cassandra tugged on her arm. “How’ve you been?”

“Gary misses Grandpa,” Cassandra said bluntly, smiling with her imperfect teeth. “But I don’t, he smelled bad and was a big nerd.”

“You take after your father,” Emile snorted, earning a chuckle from Tonks and George and a glare from Garrick Jr. “Cassy, did you lose a tooth?”

“I lost two!” Cassandra squealed, grinning broadly to show off the empty spaces where the teeth used to be and jumping up and down.

Emile smiled fondly at the child, about to ask about if her adult teeth were going to come in soon before being distracted by a weak tug on her arm.

“Are you going run the shop after grandpa?” Gary sniffled sadly, tugging on Emile’s arm.

“You know what, that’s up to him,” Emile shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it.”

“Alright, get out of here you two,” Garrick Jr. grunted affectionately, shoving his kids towards the door. They grumbled and moaned but did as they were told, Garrick shutting the door behind them with a flick of his wand.

“Muffliato,” Tonks whispered, pointing towards the door with her own wand.

Emile flicked her own wrist, and the door locked by itself.

“Show off,” George grumbled, pouting as Emile shot him a grin and a wink.

“New skill?” Garrick questioned as they sat down in a circle around a small table. “You weren’t able to do that last we spoke.”

“Last we spoke, you were being incredibly rude,” Emile countered defensively, remembering the day Garrick Jr. had dropped off his grandchildren to spend the day with their grandfather. He had refused to acknowledge his father outside of a curt hello and the standard “yes” and “no”, but had a lengthy conversation with Emile about her life choices. He didn’t approve of the wandlore business, and made it abundantly clear. Poor Mister Ollivander had looked on the verge of tears, the presence of his grandchildren being the only thing holding them back.

“Last we spoke the circumstances had been… different,” Garrick Jr. bristed back at her, eyes narrowing slightly. “Now, what do a wanted criminal, a practical jokester, and a known member of the Order of the Pheonix want from me?”

“We’re only here to escort her,” Tonks argued, pointing at Emile.

“What do you want from me?” Garrick sighed, pouring tea for everyone with a flick of his wand.

Emile opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself as she noticed Tonks and George leaning closer to her. “Would you two mind giving us a few minutes?”

“What's so secret you can’t tell us?” George exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.

“What’s so secret you can’t tell me?” Tonks added, looking thoroughly hurt.

“It has to do with my father and the Deathly Hallows,” Garrick said with a snort. “That’s all you get to hear, now go wait in the hallway where my children are undoubtedly attempting to listen in.”

With confused looks, Goerge and Tonks exited the room in stony silence.

“It’s not about the Deathly Hallows,” Emile began, turning to Garrick Jr., who held up a hand to silence her.

“That's why they took him, you know,” he said sadly, eyes beginning to glisten. “Dumbledore told me. The Dark Lord, he wants the elder wand. And he thinks my father can help him find it.

“Balderdash!” Emile cried out, shocked. “The elder wand is a myth, and even if it was real at some point it’s long gone now.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Garrick Jr. sighed. “I never cared too much for power or glory. I just wanted to raise a family, to have kids. And to be there for them in ways my father never was for me. He was always too busy-”

“Garrick, I love you, but this is not the time for a psychological evaluation,“ Emile interrupted somewhat exasperatedly. “I need your help with a wand.”

Garrick Jr. let out a sigh, head resting in his hands for a moment before he sat up straight and leaned forward. “Let me have a look.”

It took them little time to figure out the problem Emile had, an hour at most to put the wand together properly so that it worked like a charm. They would have headed back immediately after if it weren’t for June, Garrick Jr.’s wife, insisting that they stayed for dinner of roast beef, baked potatoes, and grilled vegetables. Tonks and George, who at first remained sullen and pouting in the corner, soon became the life of the party after a bottle of butterbeer. George was noticeably drinking out of the metal water bottle in his suit pocket, and coughing whenever he did.

They ended up returning to the base much later than intended, and through her tipsy haze Emile didn’t remember much of what happened. 

The following morning, Mad Eye Moody was shaking her awake with his good hand, and gave her a hard whack in the stomach when she attempted to hide under the covers.

“What’s the deal?” Emile gasped, doubling over in her bed. 

“Where’s Nymphadora?” Alastor growled down at her.

“How would I know?” Emile grumbled, rubbing her stomach with her hands. “I’m not her mother.”

Alastor Moody raised his cane threateningly at Emile, who narrowed her eyes and raised her own hands. 

“You wouldn’t dare,” he hissed, hand covering his magic eye as it began to spin in all directions.

“Try me,” Emile spat, lowering her hands. “I don’t know where Tonks is, she came back in with me last night and I hadn’t seen her since.”

“She came BACK with you?” Alastor frowned at Emile, magical eye looking her up and down. “Honey, she didn’t even go with you.”

“Now you’re being ridiculous,” Emile scoffed, clingin out of bed and pulling a thick sweater over her head. “Of course she did, both Tonks and George were with me at Ollivanders.”

Artemis, who had been woken by the commotion, began clucking his beak as he watched Emile pull on thick woolen socks.

“Shut up,” Emile snapped at the owl, and he glowered at her before flying off the settle down on top of Tonks nightstand.

“Young’un, George and his twin were up at Hogwarts most of yesterday to keep an eye on their brother,” Mad Eye growled, clawed foot tapping impatiently. 

“Ron?” Emile stopped, turning around so quickly that her hair gave her a stinging slap to the face. “What happened?”

“Eh, a spiked love potion and poisoned bottle of mead,” Alastor waved his hand dismissively. “He’ll be fine and hopefully a lot smarter. But, Miss Gorska, I think you’re missing out on two very important questions. Who went with you to Garrick Jr.’s last night, and what could this do with the fact that you haven’t spoke with Bartemius in quite some time?”

“I don’t need him,” Emile hissed, glaring at the auror. But his words made her blood run cold. This couldn’t have anything to do with Bartemius. Whoever had done it must have wanted to get through to Garrick Ollivander Jr., but why? 

Were they safe?

Emile whipped around, summoning forth her black trenchcoat and a pair of black leggings.”Alastor, I need to get to Garrick Jr’s as fast as possible.”

“You’re not going alone,” the auror growled, leaning against his cane.

“Then come along, for all I care,” Emile snapped, pulling off her pajama pants shamelessly. “Or send Dawlish or Remus to go with me.”

“Em, get a hold of yourself,” Alastor Moody rolled his eye, other eyes rolling to the back of his head as Emile tossed her pajama pants onto the bed “I meant Bartemius.”

“Oh,” was all Emile responded with as she tugged on the leggings. “Why would I need him?”

“You don’t need him,” Alastor grunted, turning around and thumping away. “He needs you.”

Emile grumbled to herself but didn’t respond as she laced up her chuck taylors, blue hair swinging in front of her face. 

“Gorska,” Alastor growled, both eyes fixed on her as she sat up, frowning at the auror.

“Moody,” Emile teased back. “I’m fine. Bartemius is fine. But Tonks may not be. So toss me a coat and let me get out there to look for her.”

“You’re impossible,” Alastor grunted, leaning heavily on his cane. “What will it take to convince you that you and Bartemius need to cooperate in order to find Tonks?”

“Why are you suddenly so interested in Bartemius?” Emile shot back, grabbing the letterman jacket she had gotten from Ginny for Christmas and the grey hat and scarf from Cedric.

“I’m interested if it affects your performance as a member of the Order,” Mad Eye Moody snapped and turned on his heel, thumping out of the room. “Take care of the things on and inside your body.”

“Um, ew,” Emile grimaced and grabbed her mokeskin pouch, following Alastor out of the room.

When she entered the common area, Alastor Moody had disappeared from sight, but Dawlish was there, supervising the house elf in the kitchen. They gave Emile a knapsack of food before she left, Dawlish slipping in a Butterbeer and Gillywater with a wink as the elve’s back was turned.

“I’m not drinking on the job,” Emile whispered fervently as the auror shoved her towards the door.

“Please, like the rest of us don’t,” Dawlish snorted, rolling his eyes as he gave her a final push out the door, slamming it shut behind her.

With a shrug, Emile slipped out the attic entrance and into the Hogs Head, making momentary eye contact with Aberforth Dumbledore, the bartender, as she slipped past him. His blue eyes were eerily similar to Professor Dumbledore’s, and Emile could feel them boring into the back of her head as she crossed the near-empty pub.

There were only three silhouettes in the pub at the moment, a pair of goblins sat in one corner as Remus Lupin slouched over near the door. As Emile neared him he looked up, eyes red, and began beckoning her over franticly.

“Any luck finding her?” he whispered, one hand clutching a half empty butterbeer.

“I literally just woke up,” Emile whispered back, sitting down across from him.

Remus Lupin swore and took a long gulp out of the bottle, shaking hands hardly able to lift it to his mouth.

“Remus how many of these have you had?” Emile frowned, apalled by the ex professor. 

“Ninety, thirteen,” Remus slurred, giving a small hiccup. “I’ve been up all night.”

“Remus, what the fuck,” Emile stared at him in shock. “This won’t help you find Tonks, you’re drunk, depressed, and exhausted. There’s no way you’re going to look for her.”

“And what, a shrimp like you is going to stop me?” Remus snorted, gulping down the last of the buttebeer and slamming it onto the table. “I don’t think so.”

“I need help,” Emile groaned, leaning back in her chair. “But you’re no help in this state.”

“Don’t you have Bartemius?” Remus hiccuped, slouching over the table. “I envy you, having a best friend with you twenty four seven. Or more than a friend, I mean, who am I to judge.”

“You’re an ass who doesn’t get to judge,” Emile snapped, standing up. “I’m going out to investigate, you stay here. Sleep and sober up.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Remus slurred, waving the near empty bottle of butterbeer at her. “I’m Remus Lupin.”

“And I’m the prime minister,” Emile rolled her eyes before stepping out of the pub, walking up the street. She didn’t want to admit how hard her heart was pounding

“Nymphadora Tonks, where are you?” she muttered under her breath, pausing in the center of the street to look around. The small town was deserted, considering it was near seven in the morning. 

**Where should I start?**

**Hm.**

**Let’s go ask the twins for advice.**

**Brilliant. Emile you are so clever, I admire you so much.**

**…**

**Bartemius would never say that, get over yourself.**

**_You’re right, I wouldn’t._ **

**What? I’m ignoring you, you can’t be here right now.**

**_If you really wanted to ignore me then I wouldn’t be able to talk right now. Truth be told, I’ve been getting stronger recently. It scares me._ **

**Bartemius, you alright?**

**_Why wouldn’t I be?_ **

**I’ve been repressing you for months and the moment you resurface you open up, that’s very uncharacteristic of you.**

**_I’ve decided to be nice to you. I’m going to have to do some not so nice things with you soon enough, and I don’t want you to remember me as the ass who took over your body._ **

**Aw, Barty.**

**_Don’t call me Barty._ **

Emile smiled and stuck her hand in her coat pockets, swinging them back and forth as she walked in the direction of the castle.

**I’m glad you’re back, it’s hard to be mad at your closest friend.**

**_Even if that friend is doomed to take over your body?_ **

**That just makes you one of the most intimate friends I’ve ever had.**

**_Yeah, but I think Lee might beat that soon._ **

**Wow, not George?**

**_Yeah… no. But, speaking of my favorite ginger, let's go look for him._ **

**You know even if that did happen--**

**_Oh, so you’re admitting it could happen?_ **

**Shut up. I’m saying IF it did, you’d still be the most intimate friend since you share this body with me.**

**_Ew. That’s gross._ **

**I bet you’re a virgin.**

**_No comment there._ **

**Hah, loser.**

Emile waltzed up to the entrance to the castle, whipping out her wand once the gate came into view to send a message through to Snape to inform him of her visit. By the time she reached the gate the greasy haired Professor was walking towards it from the other side.

“I was wondering when you would come inquire of the fate of that oaf Ronald,” he sniffed, unlocking the gates from the inside.

“I know he’s dumb but that's a bit harsh,” Emile teased as she stepped onto the castle grounds. 

“He has had quite the… eventful birthday,” Snape admitted grudgingly as they climbed up the steep slope towards the castle. 

“He isn’t the only one having an eventful day,” Emile sighed. “Any chance there’s some sort of locator spell you’re aware of?”

“Locator spell?” Snape gave her a curious look. “So, you’re looking for Tonks?”

“Of course,” Emile scoffed, throwing Snape an incredulous look. “Sev, it may be my fault she’s gone. I’ll stop by your office after I check in with the twins.”

“That’s nice, but Miss Gorska?”

“Hm?”

“Kindly cease from referring to me as ‘Sev’ or even ‘Severus’. ‘Professor Snape’ should do just fine.”

Emile laughed and rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say,  _ Professor _ .”

Snape sighed as they approached the grand doors to the entrance hall, climbing the stone steps in a cold silence. Inside Emile bid him goodbye with a small hug before skipping down the familiar halls. There was the infamous stone gargoyle, perched inconspicuously at the end of a long hallway. There was a tapestry that hid the entrance to a passageway towards the kitchen. And the painting of monks Fred had mooned after they had caught them out after hours.

Fred and George were wandering the hallway outside the infirmary, Fred furiously scribbling on a piece of parchment while George talked animatedly before him. They were in surprisingly normal clothes. 

“Em!” Fred cried as she approached, tossing the parchment on the stone floor. “Brilliant, now I can use the restroom, and you can help scribe George’s letter of complaint.”

“How are we supposed to make money if the kids aren’t allowed to come to our stores,” George seethed, tapping his foot impatiently as Fred dashed down the hallway. 

Emile gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder before sitting down outside the entrance, patting the floor next to her. George grumbled but grudgingly leaned against the rock wall, sliding down till he was sitting next to Emile. 

“I like your new jacket,” George said with a small smile.

“Thanks,” Emile grinned. “Gin got it for me for Christmas.”

“Gin?”

“Your sister?”

“But isn’t gin a kind of alcohol?”

“You know it. We’re preparing for when we’re both drunk wine moms.”

George laughed, smiling at Emile. She turned away self-consciously. 

“Tell me about yesterday,” Emile said quietly. “When did you leave the base, and where did you go?”

“We went down to the pub for a firewhiskey,” George shrugged. “Madam Rosmerta was very fascinated with our hair, gave us both a thorough combing over with her fingers. I guess now that we’re of age we look more desirable.”

“I’ll let you believe that,” Emile teased, her mind racing. The George who had been with her last night had taken all of those swigs out of that water bottle, could it have been polyjuice potion? But that would mean Rosmerta was allied with the Death Eaters, and that was impossible. Dumbledore trusted her.

**This doesn’t make sense.**

**_No shit. What do we do?_ **

**I need to check on Garrick. I have a feeling they were after him.**

**_They already have Ollivander Senior, isn’t one old man to care for enough?_ **

**Apparently not.**

**_Well, check with Snape for that locator spell and then go._ **

**Alright… What do I do about George?**

**_Leave him to deal with his problems and stop leading him on._ **

**Wow, harsh.**

**_What? He obviously isn’t the one you’re planning on choosing._ **

**I care about him.**

**_You sicken me._ **

“I’ve got to go,” Emile said quietly, standing up and walking down the hallway.

“I’ll come with you,” George offered, running after her and grabbing hold of her arm.

“No, George,” Emile pulled away, looking her friend in the eyes. “It’s dangerous for you.”

“It’s even more dangerous for you,” George insisted, looking down at her. Emile saw that he was leaning down slightly.

“Yeah, but there’s some fool out there with a flask full of polyjuice potion taking your form,” Emile insisted, eyes flashing. “George you’ve got to stay here. Stay here and stay safe.”

“What if I lose you?” George asked hesitantly, leaning even closer.

“You won’t lose me,” Emile scoffed, crossing her arms. His closeness was bothering her. “George, I’ve come out of several sticky situations. I’ll be fine.”

Emile turned around, preparing to walk away, when a chin came to rest on her head.

“I’ll miss my headrest if she gets killed.”

Emile could feel George’s throat rumbling against the back of her head.

“Your headrest is offended,” Emile pulled away, smiling, and walked towards the large clock at the end of the hall, sliding down the staircase next to it towards the dungeon. Snape was sitting in his office with a pile of papers, a cauldron in the corner letting out an eerie blue mist.

“What’s up, Professor?” Emile chirped, sitting down in a chair across the desk for him.

“Fill a vial of potion and get out,” Snape moaned, leaning back in his chair. “You’re too much trouble, Miss Gorska.”

“Would you love me if I wasn’t?” Emile smiled sweetly as she summoned forth a vial and cork to seal it with. “Now, tell me how this works.”

“You drink it, and it’ll take you to whatever you want most,” Snape explained poorly.

“That’s incredibly vague,” Emile complained. “What if I end up in Hawaii? Or Chile? I’ve always wanted to go there.”

“Do you truly want to find Tonks?” Snape asked, boring his dark eyes into Emile’s green ones.

“Of course,” Emile insisted, pocketing the vial of potion. 

“Then there shouldn’t be any problems,” Snape sniffed, turning back to his papers. “Now, get out of my hair, Miss Emile.”

“Don’t miss me too much, Professor,” Emile said with a smile as she flipped her hair and skipped out of the room.

As soon as she got off the castle grounds, Emile turned on her heel and apparated to Garrick Ollivander Jr’s. The large house was deserted, empty, and dark. Or, at least, that's how it looked from the outside. Emile hesitantly walked up to the large oak doors of the cottage, knocking twice. There was a loud clang, and a split second later Emile was knocked to the ground.

“BRING HIM BACK!” came a scream from the raging ball of agony that was pounding at Emile’s side.

“Cassandra!” Came a shout from behind Emile. 

The pummeling fists disappeared, leaving Emile winded on the cold hard ground. A moment later a warm, larger hand grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her up.

“Thank you,” Emile wheezed, clutching at her side. June, Garricks wife, was standing next to her, her brown hair pulled into a messy bun. 

“You shouldn’t have come back,” June whispered harshly, glaring at Emile as she dropped her stiff arm. “They were after you.”

“What?” Emile frowned at June Ollivander, scratching her head with her hand. “Who?”

“Alecto and Amycus Carrow,” June whispered into Emile’s ear. 

“Fucking hell,” Emile whispered back, clutching her mokeskin pouch tightly.

“They took Garrick,” June whispered, clenching her fists. “They took Garrick and Gary and I don’t know where to find them. Can you help me?”

“Did you hear them say anything?” Emile asked as June led her inside, closing the door shut behind her and barring it shut.

“Amycus told Garrick that they’re going to the last place he’d like to go, but I have no idea where that is,” June sighed exasperatedly, throwing her hands in the air.

“I think I do,” Emile frowned, tapping her foot impatiently. “Did they say why they took them?”

“To get to you,” June said with a sigh. “And to Bartemius, whoever that is.”

Emile felt her blood run cold. Somewhere, in the back of her mind, Bartemius was getting incredibly angry. She could feel her head getting warm.

“I’m off,” Emile muttered. “I think this is personal.”

With a swipe of her hand, she unbarred the door and stepped back outside, walking to the garden gate before disapparating to the one place Garrick Junior hated.

The air inside Ollivanders was incredibly dusty. Emile opened her eyes, sight adjusting to the dim lighting, to make out the brutish figures of Alecto and Amycus Carrow before her.

“About time,” Alecto said pleasantly, taking a sip from the teacup she was holding.

“What is this?” Emile asked suspiciously, gripping her wand with one hand. Alecto and Amycus were sitting pleasantly around the counter of the shop, a kettle of tea and three teacups on top. In the shadows behind them lay Garrick and little Gary, Garrick bleeding from a cut on his skull. Both were tied up with ropes and gagged.

“We’re here to check up on progress,” Alecto smiled, white teeth gleaming in the dim lighting. Amycus nodded appreciatively next to his sibling, taking a long sip from their teacup, pinkie raised in the air. 

“Progress with what?” Emile folded her arms, taking a step closer to them.

“Bartemius,” Alecto laughed, putting the teacup down and shaking her head. “You were supposed to have control of your vessel by now. We’re here to speed things up a bit.”

“What do you mean?” Emile frowned, staring at the Death Eater.

Alecto sighed and summoned forth a dusty stool from the back room, placing it in front of the third tea cup and giving it a meaningful pat.

“I’d rather stand,” Emile hissed, but Alecto gave her a glare. Immediately, she lost control of her body and was forced over to the stool, sitting down with her back straight and head high.

“Let… go…” Emile hissed through gritted teeth.

“I didn’t do anything,” Alecto said with a grin at Amycus. “Did you?”

Her brother shook his head, smiling.

**Bartemius?**

**_I’m so sorry, but Amycus, and Alecto. They scare me. It’s best to do what they say._ **

**Bartemius…**

**_Em…_ **

“This is all very touching,” Alecto continued, staring at Emile. “Here, lighten the mood. Have some tea.”

**Don’t do it, it’s probably poisoned.**

An involuntary laugh bubbled in Emile’s throat as her hands moved to pick up the cup, draining the tea in a few quick gulps.

“They wouldn’t risk hurting me,” came and inhuman growl from inside Emile. Immediately, she covered her mouth with her hands, tears forming in her eyes. 

“The tea will help,” Alecto insisted, pushing the cup closer to Emile.

“I want to drink it on my own,” Emile whispered, her fists clenching under the table.

“Well, we certainly won’t do it for you,” Amycus sneered, opening his mouth for the first time. “You’re what, eighteen?”

“Part of me is only a year younger than you,” Emile snapped, her temper flaring.

Amycus’ eyes darkened and he slowly drew his wand from his robes, bringing it up to Emile’s neck. 

“You don’t want to mess with me, boy,” he said in a disturbingly soft voice.

“I’ll take my chances,” came the voice from inside Emile, and she immediately covered her mouth with her hands again. 

Amycus stared at Emile, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Alecto, I think you were right. The potion helped.”

“The Dark Lord will be pleased,” Alecto purred, crossing her legs on the stool she sat on.

“What?” Emile gasped, falling off of the stool as she lost feeling in the lower half of her body. “Wh-what did you do to me?”

“You’re too strong on your own,” Amycus snarled, towering over her. “How are we supposed to get Bartemius back if you can manage to keep him contained?”

**Bartemius? Whats going on?**

**_It works like a dementor's kiss, they’ve weakened your soul somehow._ **

“Bartemius could move your legs if he tried,” Alecto cooed, leaning over. 

**Don’t, please…**

**_Em, don’t worry. I’ve got a plan._ **

Emile felt hot tears streak down her face as her hand was lifted into the air, wand drawn, pointed directly at the ropes binding Garrick Ollivander.

“No!” Cried Alecto, diving forward.

“Incendio!” the unnatural voice shrieked out of Emile’s body. A long rope of fire came flying out of the wand like a lasso, burning straight through the ropes holding Garrick and Gary together, and crashed into Ollivanders storage room. Red hot flames came licking out of the inside as Garrick grabbed hold of Gary and pulled him up the stairs to Mr. Ollivanders apartment.

“Get them!” Alecto shrieked, chasing after the father and son with her brother in tow.

**What now?**

**_Take the potion!_ **

**But, but Tonks!**

**_Emile, this isn’t the time!_ **

Emile regained control over her hands and took out the vial of the glowing blue potion. Quickly uncorking it, she dragged her body into an upright position as the flickering flames began spreading into the room she was in.

As she gulped down the entire vial, she focused on what she wanted most. She wanted to find Tonks, she wanted to be normal. She wanted to be safe.

There was a blinding flash of white light as Emile’s skin began glowing, ribbons of light encircling her body and squeezing it tighter and tighter till Emile felt as if she were going to explode. But there was a sudden pop, and Emile found herself lying on a familiar sofa. Staring down at her was a face she cared about, and seeing it brought up the unending urge to cry.

“Em?”

“Lee!”


	76. Hush

Emile had been rooming with Lee since the unfortunate incident with Garrick Ollivander Junior. Lee’s previous roommate, Will, had moved in with his girlfriend not long before that. According to Lee, he was going to keep the room empty for a bit, since Will often blew through girlfriends/just in case, but since Emile was there, she may as well take it. So Lee had invited Emile over, since she was looking for a new temporary location.

They had fallen into a pleasant routine of minding their own business and going about their lives till dinner time, when they would cook together before watching television. Lee went to work and Emile went to the treehouse, working on her wands as well as a personal project.

**Thank Merlin I managed to finish this in time.**

**_It’s so considerate of you._ **

**Mhm. When you take over me they need some way to be certain I’m not dead.**

**_Emile-_ **

**I know. It’s fine. I’m just so scared.**

**_I don’t want to do this._ **

**And I don’t want them to die.**

**_Then it’s the only way._ **

Alecto and Amycus Carrow hadn’t been seen since the night they left Emile partially petrified in Diagon Alley. In fact, none of the Death Eaters had been seen for a disturbingly long amount of time. The entire Order was growing wary, and Dumbledore had moved the members from their base up to the castle as means of extra security. 

Garrick Ollivander Jr. and his son had returned to their family in one piece, and with a bit of help from Alastor Moody, the group of them moved to Australia for the time being. Alastor had said Cassandra was particularly excited about this development, while Gary was convinced any animal he saw there would eat him.

Tonks had been discovered petrified in an alleyway behind the Hogs Head, lying wrapped in a tarp inside a long box. It had taken several tracking spells to locate her, and once she was woken she was back on her feet with a new fire inside. It was almost like having the old Tonks back.

Emile sighed and leaned back at the dinner table, halfheartedly stabbing at Lee’s spaghetti dinner. It was alright, but nowhere near as good as her garlic bread. She had learned from a legitimate chef, and Lee had asked his mother for a last minute recipe.

“Emile, I know there’s something wrong,” Lee said hesitantly, reaching across the table to put his hand on top of hers.

“Lee, I told you, it’s nothing.”

Lee frowned at Emile across the table, she could see him doing so in her peripheral vision, but she kept her eyes lowered as she halfheartedly jabbed at a meatball.

At that moment a ball of silver light flashed into the room, taking the form of a long legged wolf.

“Calling all available members of the Order. Urgent backup requested at Hogwarts. Repeat; Calling all available members of the Order. Urgent backup requested at Hogwarts.”

“I’ve got to go,” Emile gasped, jumping up from the table and running into her room.

“Emile, you are not going anywhere!” Lee yelled from the table, running after her a split second later. 

“Lee, they need help!” Emile objected. “This is Tonks, do you think she would ask for help if she didn’t need it?”

“Emile Victoria Gorska, I forbid it!”

“You’re not my father! And since when do you know my full name?”

“Since always! I can’t lose you, not to those Death Eaters. You don’t even know how important you are to-”

Lee never got to finish his sentence. Emile had turned around and flung her arms around him, her lips pressed against his as tightly as her arms were wrapped around his neck. How long he must have waited for this moment, well, Emile didn’t even want to think about that. For a split second, she managed to pretend that everything was going to be alright, that Lee would be waiting for her when she would get back, that she would come back whole and alive.

It was a perfect dream. The most perfect dream to accompany the most perfect kiss.

As she drew away, opening her eye’s to look into Lee’s, she slipped a long stick into his hands.

“Now Lee, I’m going to talk and you’re going to promise not to cry. I’m in the Order and have clearance to enter Hogwarts grounds, so you can’t come with me. If I don’t make it back, I would appreciate a glass headstone. They’re quite charming. Oh, and you definitely have to give the twins, Gnat, and Angelina my love.”

Lee managed a small smile at their friends nickname.

“But I’m leaving you this pouch, alright? You need to get it to Ollivander, if he’s found. It’s all my wand woods, cores, and supplies.”

Lee held up a thin hazel wand she had slipped into his hand. “Should I put this inside the ba-”

“No!” Emile grabbed his hand, wrapping his fingers around the wand. “This is for you. If anything was to happen to me, this will help you.”

“Nothings going to happen to you,” Lee said fervently. “As soon as you leave I’ll go to Fred and George and send them to Hogwarts after you.”

Emile smiled and closed her eyes, leaning against Lee for a moment. He smelled of citrus aftershave and old books. How she wished things could be different, and she could stay here with him. But if she did than he would die.

“Goodbye, Lee,” Emile whispered, stepping away from her friend.

Before he managed to respond, she had turned on her heels and disapparated into the coming evening.

The first thing Emile managed to register was the locked gates. Bill was standing next to them with Remus. The two appeared to be arguing.

“Nymphadora’s in there!” Remus was yelling as Emile ran up to them, wand clutched in her hand. 

“So are my brother and sister!” Bill yelled back, his fist clenched.

“Yelling won’t get us anywhere!” Emile screeched at the top of her lungs, coming to a halt between the two grown men.

“Emile?” Lupin gasped, putting his hand to his forehead. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing here? Of all the inconceivable-”

“Tonk’s sent for me,” Emile interrupted, looking over the gate in front of her. She knew that there were many protective charms on it. There was no way past them.

“Alright boys, who knows any secret ways onto the grounds?” Emile turned to the two older men next to her. “Bill? Lupin? I won’t believe you if you try telling me you never snuck out.”

“I never snuck out,” Bill stated bluntly.

**_Hah. Loser._ **

**Shut up.**

**_Emile, I’m sorry-_ **

**No talking.**

“I might know a way,” Lupin admitted, shuffling his feet nervously.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Emile demanded, looping one arm through his and her other through Bill’s. “Let’s go.”

Lupin sighed but didn’t argue as he pulled out his wand and turned on his heels, pulling Emile and Bill along as they apparated away from Hogwarts main gate. They opened their eyes to find themselves surrounded by darkness.

“Lumos,” Emile whispered, illuminating their surroundings with a faint glow.

“What is this place?” Bill demanded in a whisper, igniting his own wand to inspect their surroundings.

“It’s a tunnel that leads off of Hogwarts grounds,” Lupin said in a whisper, lifting his ignited wand and casting out light into the tunnel in front of them. “That’s all you need to know. Now let’s get over there.”

Silently, the trio ran down the tunnel, Emile occasionally tripping over roots as well as her own feet. They emerged after what felt like hours onto a shady expanse of grass next to the whomping willow, darting out of the way of the tree and running up towards the castle.

Lupin and Bill let out a gasp as they climbed the rise leading down to the castle, surveying the dark scene in front of them. Dark clouds were blanketing the sky as a figure filled the air with an eerie green light.

“The Dark Mark,” Emile whispered, staring up at the skull entangled with a writhing snake.

**_It’s almost time._ **

“Come on!” Lupin yelled, running as fast as he could down the hill towards the castle, Emile and Bill hard on his heels.

The trio burst into the entrance hall, Lupin casting a shielding charm as they did. It deflected three bright red hexes before fading away, giving Bill and Emile the opportunity to retaliate with stunning spells.

“Lupin!” Came a cry from down the hall.

Emile craned her head over the whistling hexes and charms to catch sight of a battered Ginny, locked in battle with Bellatrix. The small ginger was jumping back and forth to avoid the hexes that were cast at her feet, making her look as if she was dancing.

“Ginny!” Came a cry from Bill. Pushing past Emile and Lupin, he dove across the hall towards Bellatrix, wand lifted above him.

“Bill!” Emile cried out, watching as a figure leapt out from behind Bellatrix, making its way towards the oldest ginger. “Look out!”

The two men collided in midair; Bill and the husky man with matted grey hair and whiskers. His long, yellow fingernails locked onto Bill's skin as they fell to the ground, and the man snarled, revealing crooked yet dangerously sharp teeth.

“Fenrir!” Lupin bellowed, leaping toward the tangled duo. “You let him go!”

Fenrir Greyback turned, glaring at Lupin as the wizard ran towards him with Emile hot on his heels.

“Remus Lupin,” he snarled, his voice raspy and deep. “You’ve brought me an appetizer i see. Well, more of a palate cleanser at this point into the night.” He glanced hungrily towards the ginger struggling beneath him before facing Emile with the same look in his eyes.

“Go to Ginny,” Lupin hissed at Emile, and she dove behind a fallen pillar with a moment of hesitation, crawling towards Bellatrix Lestrange.

Ginny locked eyes with Emile for a split second, a desperate plea in her eyes as she avoided another hex.

“You can’t dance forever, precious,” Bellatrix laughed, tossing her head back. The pale light of her wand reflected off of her pearly white teeth.

“I can try!” Ginny hissed, planting her feet and raising her wand as Bellatrix’s grin turned into a snarl and the Death Eater raised her wand threateningly.

“Crucio!”

“Protengo!” Emile cried out, leaping up next to Ginny.

“Em!” Ginny grinned. “I knew you wouldn’t leave me.”

“Barty Crouch,” Bellatrix snarled, narrowing her eyes at Emile.

“Bellatrix Black,” Emile responded in a hollow voice, smirking at the pale woman in front of her.

Bellatrix smirked slightly. “You never could accept that I married Rodolphus, could you?”

Emile shrugged. “I can. Bartemius, not so much.”

Laughing, Bellatrix lunged forward, sending forth a shock of bright yellow hexes. Emile dove to the right as Ginny darted to the left, both avoiding the curse that had been sent their way, falling onto the floor in a sweaty heap. Head throbbing, Emile sat up to see a familiar cloaked figure sweeping past her, on a direct route to the astronomy tower.

“Severus!” Emile cried out, struggling to her feet. 

Noticing her opponents distraction, Bellatrix gave a wicked grin and shot another hex at Emile. Casting a quick shielding charm, Emile glanced up to see the dark eyes of her ex potions master give her a frightened look before disappearing up the astronomy tower steps.

**_Focus!_ **

**Where’s he going?**

**_He’s one of them!_ **

**No, he isn’t. Dumbledore trusts him. I trust him.**

“Defend the tower!” Bellatrix shrieked, calling back several of her fellow death eaters into the entrance hall. 

Emile stood with Ginny as the pair of them shot hex after hex at the Death Eaters, joined by Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick.

“Long time no see!” Emile called to the Head of Gryffindor House.

“Focus, Miss Gorska,” the older woman bellowed back.

Grinning, Emile shot a well placed jinx at Rodolphus Lestrange, catching his left foot unaware. It began to swell to the size of a bean bag chair, the wizard screeching in pain as his wife gave a sigh and reduced the foot with a flick of her own wand.

**_Oh, you focus when she tells you to but not me?_ **

“Bartemius,” Rodolphus hissed, glaring over at Emile.

“That’s not my name,” Emile sang, shooting another set of sparks towards the Death Eater.

Loud bouts of laughter echoed down the stairwell of the tower, growing closer and closer.

“Emile!”

Emile whipped around to see Remus Lupin struggling with Bill, who was lying facedown in a pool of his own blood.

“Bill!” Emile gasped, running over to the pair of them. “What happened?”

“Greyback,” Lupin hissed, eyes narrowing as Severus and Draco swept out of the astronomy tower, quickly followed by Alecto and Amycus Carrow and Fenrir Greyback.

“Go after him,” Emile hissed, shoving Lupin towards the Death Eaters as Ginny began to duel with one of the Carrows. “Severus, help me!”

The professor locked eyes with Emile for a split second, and time seemed to slow down. Beside him, Draco lifted his wand and aimed it at Emile, uttering a spell. Emile stared into her professor's eyes, shocked, as the blindingly white hex struck her in the chest, and she collapsed onto the bloody floor, frozen.

**_Em, stay awake!_ **

**I can’t, I’m sorry.**

**_It’s too early._ **

**Do it, Bartemius.**

**_No, not like this._ **

**I’m so sorry.**

Bellatrix floated Emile out of the hall, followed closely by her husband. Rodolphus tied a filthy rag over her eyes, and the group headed away from the castle, the sound of screaming and fighting fading into the distant. The only thing Emile could hear was the heavy breathing of the Death Eaters as their heavy boots hit the ground beneath them, snapping twigs and crunching leaves underfoot.

Suddenly, there was a light around her. Emile opened her eyes to see Draco Malfoy in front of her, along with Rodolphus and Bellatrix Lestrange, Alecto and Amycus Carrow, and Fenrir Greyback. Bellatrix was holding her in the air, suspended over a flickering fire that projected both warmth and light around the clearing.

“We ought to wait for Snape,” Rodolphus was saying as he frowned at his wife.

“Nonsense,” Amycus spat, brandishing his wand. “Take care of her the same way you took care of Ollivander.”

“We aren’t locking her up,” Draco objected, holding up his hand. “The Dark Lord wants him alive. He needs a working vessel.”

“Mister Malfoy is accurate,” came a sniff from the shadows. Severus Snape stepped into the clearing they were in, tall trees filling in the gaps between the circle of people standing there. He walked over to where Emile was floating upright, suspended by an invisible string. Emile felt her face growing hot as he looked her up and down, unimpressed. 

“Let her speak,” he said in a bored voice to the group behind him.

Bellatrix grumbled but did as she was told, and Emile felt control over her neck return. 

“We trusted you,” she spat at Snape, glaring in his direction.

“You made a grave mistake,” Snape responded, the Carrow twins smirking behind him as Bellatrix let out a high pitched laugh.

“What do you want with me?” Emile hissed, eyes growing hot against her will.

“Oh, sweetie,” Bellatrix sang, twirling her wand through her hair. “I think it’s quite obvious we don’t want anything to do with you.”

Several Death Eaters giggled along with Bellatrix as she lifted her wand in the air and pointed it at Emile. “Crucio!”

The world seemed to slow down as Snape slowly turned his head towards Bellatrix, the red spark shooting past him and hitting Emile in the stomach.

It was a pain unlike any other she had ever experienced. More so a pain that seemed to be a combination of all the pain she had ever felt in her short life. The severity of thousands of period cramps spread out across the entirety of her skinny body, a white hot streak of searing agony. Emile felt her jaws open up in a silent shriek as she fell out of the air, her glasses falling into the leaves as she writhed on the ground.

“Enough,” Snape interfered, grabbing Bellatrix’s arm. “The Dark Lord-”

“You don’t get to pull the same line you would with Potter,” Fenrir growled. “The Dark Lord doesn’t want her, who cares is she goes mad?”

“We want Bartemius,” Rodolphus said in an eerie, deep voice.

“I still don’t understand what we’re doing,” Draco said hotly, crossing his arms and standing up straighter. “If the Dark Lord wants them let's take them to him.”

“He doesn’t want her,” Bellatrix snapped, eyes blazing.

“He wants him,” Rodolphus added again, eyes glaring over at Emile. She was lying on the ground, listening to their conversation. She didn’t have the strength nor the will to stand up and fight, and her body kept shaking with involuntary muscle spasms.

Snape took a tentative step towards her, pulling out his own wand. “I have reason to believe that Bartemius cares for his vessel; he will not let us go as far with her as you went with her mother.”

“So? What will he do?” Bellatrix said with a frown.

Snape turned his head towards the female Death Eater. “He  _ will  _ take over, to save her.”

A blindingly red light shot out of his wand, striking Emile directly in the head. She let out an ear splitting shriek as she curled up into ball, tears streaming down her face as her entire body wracked in spasms of pain.

“Hush, little girl,” Rodolphus growled in an eerily deep voice.

“Bartemius, Bartemius,” Bellatrix shrieked with laughter, a delusional grin on her face. “Come out and play!”

**Bartemius… Please…**

**_Oh, Em. I’m so sorry._ **

“Hush now, Gorska,” Bellatrix’s laughter sounded dimly in the background as Emile felt herself slipping away. “Hush now and forevermore.”

Tears streamed down Emile’s face as she gave in to Bartemius, feeling the pain ebb away as she first lost her sight, then sound, until finally she was alone in the darkness.

**_Em, please, you’ve got to remember who you are._ **

**Emile?**

**_Em…_ **

**Hush. I’m no longer Emile. I’m Bartemius.**

**_You are Emile._ **

**You are wrong.**

* * *

 


	77. Tonks

* * *

 

It was hard— no— impossible to believe that the world famous Albus Dumbledore had died. Albus, who was so old and determined. The famed headmaster who had encouraged Tonks to experiment with her abilities, was gone.

Tonks remembered what her classes seventh year prank had been. She had changed into Albus Dumbledore, and, thanks to a voice changing potion brewed by her classmates, she had taken the position of headmaster at the school. They even fooled McGonagall. Two Slytherin fourth years had been reduced to tears when Tonks told them off for bullying the first years, forgetting about her appearance.

The door opened suddenly, slamming into the far wall and shaking Tonks from her memories. Tonks, along with most of the group gathered, jumped around with their hands reaching for their wands as Molly and Arthur Weasley, Fleur following in their wake.

“Molly — Arthur —” said Professor McGonagall, jumping up and hurrying to greet them. “I am so sorry —” 

“Bill,” whispered Molly Weasley, darting past Professor McGonagall as she caught sight of Bill’s mangled face. “Oh, Bill!”

Tonks jumped up quickly, moving away from her seat beside Bill’s bed with Remus. She didn’t look at the werewolf, but she could feel his hovering presence by her shoulders. They watched in silence as Molly kissed her son’s bloodied forehead.

“You said Greyback attacked him?” Arthur Weasley asked Professor McGonagall distractedly. “But he hadn’t transformed? So what does that mean? What will happen to Bill?” 

“We don’t yet know,” said Professor McGonagall, looking helplessly at Lupin. 

“There will probably be some contamination, Arthur,” said Lupin. “It is an odd case, possibly unique. . . . We don’t know what his behavior might be like when he awakens. . . .” 

Molly Weasley took the nasty-smelling ointment from Madam Pomfrey and began dabbing at Bill’s wounds. “And Dumbledore . . .” said Mr. Weasley. “Minerva, is it true . . . is he really . . . ?” 

Professor McGonagall nodded. Tonks narrowed her eyes and wrapped her arms around herself as she watched the french ex-champion. She was watching Bill with a frozen expression on her face.

“Dumbledore gone,” whispered Arthur Weasley, but Molly Weasley had eyes only for her eldest son; she began to sob, tears falling onto Bill’s mutilated face. 

“Of course, it doesn’t matter how he looks. . . . It’s not r-really important . . . but he was a very handsome little b-boy . . . always very handsome . . . and he was g-going to be married!” 

“And what do you mean by zat?” said Fleur suddenly and loudly. “What do you mean, ‘ ’e was going to be married?’ ” 

Molly raised her tear-stained face, looking startled. “Well — only that —” 

“You theenk Bill will not wish to marry me anymore?” demanded Fleur. “You theenk, because of these bites, he will not love me?” 

Tonks winced. Some of that assumption was because of her and Remus, she was certain. 

“No, that’s not what I —” 

“Because ’e will!” said Fleur, drawing herself up to her full height and throwing back her long mane of silver hair. “It would take more zan a werewolf to stop Bill loving me!” 

“Well, yes, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Weasley, “but I thought perhaps — given how — how he —” 

“You thought I would not weesh to marry him? Or per’aps, you hoped?” said Fleur, her nostrils flaring. “What do I care how he looks? I am good-looking enough for both of us, I theenk! All these scars show is zat my husband is brave! And I shall do zat!” she added fiercely, pushing Mrs. Weasley aside and snatching the ointment from her. 

Mrs. Weasley fell back against her husband and watched Fleur mo up Bill’s wounds with a most curious expression upon her face. 

Tonks glanced from the french girl to Molly, waiting for the explosion that was sure to follow.

“Our Great-Auntie Muriel,” said Mrs. Weasley after a long pause, “has a very beautiful tiara — goblin-made — which I am sure I could persuade her to lend you for the wedding. She is very fond of Bill, you know, and it would look lovely with your hair.” 

“Thank you,” said Fleur stiffly. “I am sure zat will be lovely.” 

And then both women were crying and hugging each other. Tonks felt her eyes growing hot as she watched the scene in front of her, hands clenched into tight fists.

“You see!” exclaimed Tonks quietly, turning to Remus Lupin and pushing them away from the oh-so-touching scene behind her now. “She still wants to marry him, even though he’s been bitten! She doesn’t care!”

“It’s different,” said Lupin, barely moving his lips and looking suddenly tense, which added to Tonks’s building frustration. “Bill will not be a full werewolf. The cases are completely —”

“But I don’t care either, I don’t care!” yelled Tonks, seizing the front of Lupin’s robes, exasperated, and began shaking them, finally bringing the attention of the others in the infirmary. “I’ve told you a million times. . . .” 

“And I’ve told you a million times,” said Lupin, refusing to meet her eyes, staring at the floor, “that I am too old for you, too poor . . . too dangerous. . . .” 

“I’ve said all along you’re taking a ridiculous line on this, Remus,” said Molly over Fleur’s shoulder as she patted her on the back. 

“I am not being ridiculous,” said Lupin steadily. “Tonks deserves somebody young and whole.” 

“But she wants you,” said Arthur Weasley, with a small smile. “And after all, Remus, young and whole men do not necessarily remain so.” 

He gestured sadly at his son, lying between them. 

“This is . . . not the moment to discuss it,” muttered Lupin, avoiding everybody’s eyes as he looked around distractedly. “Dumbledore is dead. . . .” 

“Dumbledore would have been happier than anybody to think that there was a little more love in the world,” said Professor McGonagall curtly, just as the hospital doors opened again and the lumbering figure of Hagrid walked in. 

“I’ve . . . I’ve done it, Professor,” he choked, the bit of his face that wasn’t covered by his  beard looking very red and puffy. “M-moved him. Professor Sprout’s got the kids back in bed. Professor Flitwick’s lyin’ down, but he says he’ll be all righ’ in a jiffy, an’ Professor Slughorn says the Ministry’s bin informed.” 

“Thank you, Hagrid,” said Professor McGonagall, standing up at once and turning to look at the group around Bill’s bed. “I shall have to see the Ministry when they get here. Hagrid, please tell the Heads of Houses — Slughorn can represent Slytherin — that I want to see them in my office forthwith. I would like you to join us too.” 

As Hagrid nodded, turned, and shuffled out of the room again, she looked down at Harry. “Before I meet them I would like a quick word with you, Harry. If you’ll come with me. . . .” 

Harry mumbled a barely audible goodbye to Ginny, Hermione, and Ron as he followed head of house out of the room.

In the silence that followed, Molly and Arthur continued staring at their son alongside his fiance whilst Tonks turned her back on Remus, instead focusing all of her attention on the three kids in front of her.

“None of you are hurt, right?” She said tautly as the three of them shook their heads.

“I’m fine,” Hermione said quietly, and Tonks couldn’t help but notice the way she was leaning against Ron. 

“I’m not,” Ginny snapped, standing up and pacing the room. “Dumbledore’s gone, Voldemort—”

Molly Weasley let out a small gasp as Ginny spoke the forbidden name, and Ron flinched next to her.

“Pull it together,” Ginny snapped, glaring at them a moment before resuming her pacing. “ Oh, alright. He-who-must-not-be-named is after Harry again, and Emile’s vanished.”

“They might have to close Hogwarts,” Remus murmured to himself, not really registering what the ginger was saying.

“Emile?” Tonks stared at the Ginny, her blood running cold.

“Yes, Emile,” Ginny snapped once again. “She disappeared from next to me after Snape and Malfoy came out of the tower.”

“I left her protecting Bill,” Remus spoke from behind Tonks, his face unusually pale as he came to her side. “Oh no…”

“What?” Ginny gasped, walking up to the werewolf.

“Snape… but no… that makes no sense…“

Tonks glared at the werewolf along with the small ginger next to her. “Remus if you know something I would suggest you spill the beans.”

Remus shuffled his feet nervously. “Well, I didn’t know that Snape was with them… I thought he and Malfoy were taking care of her…”

“What?” Ginny cried out while Tonks let out a gasp.

“What’s going on?” Molly asked as she walked over to the group. 

“Remus let Snape and his cohorts kidnap Emile,” Tonks cried out, tossing her hands in the air.

Molly Weasley gasped, reaching for her husband’s hand. “Are you sure?”

“We’ve got to go after her,” Remus mumbled, heading towards the door.

“It’s too late for that,” Tonks snapped, following Remus out of the hospital wing. “The Death Eaters will be long gone.”

Lupin paused at the foot of the stairs, looking out the large window next the stairs. “I don’t think so.”

“Why don’t you think so?” Tonks hissed, teeth clenched.

Remus grabbed her arm and turned her around, pointing off into the Forbidden Forest. Off in the distance, red streaks of light were illuminating the cloudy sky.

Tonks uttered a swear before tearing away from Remus and running towards the stairs. 

“Nymphadora!” Remus yelled, running after her. “You can’t just burst in there.”

“What do you expect me to do?” Tonks yelled back, sliding down the stairs bannisters towards the ground floor.

“Wait!” 

Nymphadora Tonks paused in the entrance hall, turning to face the werewolf.

Remus stopped next to the her, gasping slightly as he put a hand on her shoulder. “You aren’t bursting in there without me.”

“I’ve done a lot without you these past few months, Remus Lupin,” Tonks scoffed, turning towards the forest.

“And I’m sorry,” Remus backtracked, attempted to apologize. “But you understand why-”

“No, I don’t,” Tonks snapped, walking faster and pulling ahead of her friend.

“Nymphadora, I-”

“Tonks!”

Tonks whipped around at the sound of her name, hand gripping her wand tightly. Up by the entrance hall, two gingers were waving down at her. She motioned them over with a wave of her own hand, and waited in stiff silence with Remus as she twins raced over to them.

“What happened?” Fred gasped, somewhat out of breath.

“Where’s Emile?” George demanded, glancing around the group.

“We would have gotten here sooner, but we couldn’t figure out how to get in through the gate,” Fred added as he straightened his back, rolling his shoulders with a satisfying crack. “We just got let in by the Minister and his delegation.”

“Shut up, Fred,” George snapped. “We can explain later.”

“Oh, I’m sorry if I wanted to clarify a few things, George,” Fred snapped back.

“We promised Lee we’d look after Em!” George cried out, throwing his hands in the air.

“You mean, you promised Lee,” Fred scoffed.

“Calm down,” Tonks said steadily, putting a hand on George’s shoulder as he took a step towards his brother. “We don’t know exactly where she is, so we’re going to look for her.”

“In there?” George frowned at the dark forest in front of them. “What happened?”

“That’s what we need to find out,” Tonks said with a glance at Remus. If George found out that Remus had seen Death Eaters taking away the blue haired youth, he could potentially flip his shit. 

Remus met her glance with his warm, brown eyes, and gave a miniscule nod in response.

“What are we waiting for?” George demanded, taking charge at leading the group into the forbidden forest.

They walked for what felt like several hours, stepping as lightly as they possibly could so that they didn’t snap any twigs or dry leaves beneath their feet. As they headed deeper into the woods they grew more and more uneasy, their spread out defensive line turning into a clump of frightened people. Here and there, bursts of red would illuminate the forest, giving them a direction to head in.

It wasn’t long until the sparks stopped, and Tonks felt her blood run cold. Beside her, George began to breath faster. They broke into a run, no longer concerned about the possibility of getting caught.

“I don’t think she’s in here,” Fred gasped as he stumbled over a tree root for the fifth time.

“Look!” Remus called out, pointing ahead of them with his wand. A dim glow was illuminating a group of trees before them. 

The trio of them burst into a round clearing, the trees around them illuminated by a dying fire. Tonks walked over to the pit of embers, praying that no charred bones lay at the bottom of the fire pit. Thankfully there were none.

“Lumos Maxima,” she whispered, pointing her wand into the air. A large ball of silver light flew out of her wand and hovered above her, illuminating the clearing so that it became more visible. Here and there, footprints of various sizes littered the leaf strewn ground, exposing the bare dirt underneath. But the clearing was abandoned.

“George…”

Remus, Tonks, and George all turned to Fred as he called out his brothers name in a quavery voice. He was staring at something on the ground at his feet, not seven meters away from the flickering embers.

Tonks walked over slowly, getting held back by Fred as she approached. He kept his hand on her arms as she stared down at what had stunned the ginger.

In the dirt lay a collection of bracelets, the silver charm of a Nimbus 2000 gleaming in the frosty light coming from the floating orb.

“Fuck,” George whispered as he approached his brothers other side, bending down to poke at the small collection. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.”

“Bloody hell, it’s Emile’s,” Fred whispered.

“It’s terrible,” Tonks added quietly as Lupin bent down over the pile of bracelets, tentatively picking them up with the end of his wand.

“It’s covered in blood,” he murmured quietly, not meeting anyone's eyes. 

In the silence that followed, Tonks felt an unquenchable rage building up inside her.

“This is all your fault!” She spat at Remus, who looked up at her in shock as he pocketed the bracelets.

“My fault?” Remus, stared at her looking thoroughly done with being lectured this evening.

“You let Snape take her!” Tonks yelled, stalking towards Remus.

“You what?!” George cried out, brandishing his wand.

“It wouldn’t have happened if you were paying attention!” Remus seethed. “We should have known Snape wasn’t to be trusted.”

“That doesn’t really help your case, mate,” Fred said with a frown as his brother as George leaned in uncomfortably close to Remus.

“Alright, but Tonks is the one who called for her!” Remus objected, pushing George away.

“Don’t you blame me,” Tonks growled, waving her wand close to his eyes.

Remus pushed her wand away as George turned to Tonks, eyes blazing. “You knew Death Eaters were after her, yet you called for her anyways?!”

Her blood ran cold as she met George’s furious stare. “Oh, no.”

“Tonks!” Fred whirled towards the auror but lowered his wand. “What the hell?!”

Tonks covered her mouth with a hand, her vision swaying before her. Blinking fast, she could feel tears rush down her face.

“Nymphadora,” Remus walked over and wrapped his arms around her, and despite herself, she burrowed into his shoulder, wiping away tears furiously against his coat. The dread stayed knotted in her stomach, but near the knot were a few fluttering butterflies she couldn’t supress.

“None of you are guilty,” came a voice from the shadows.

The twins whipped around and Tonks pushed herself out of Remus’s arms as a majestic figure stepped out of the shadows, long black hair glistening in the silver light.

“A centaur,” Fred stated, sounding impressed as it trotted into the clearing with arms crossed.

“Bane,” Lupin said, sounding relieved. “Thank Merlin it’s only you.”

“What do you mean, none of us are guilty?” George demanded without lowering his wand.

“George,” Tonks sniffled as she walked over to the ginger and placed her hand on his arm. “Lower your wand, Bane will not hurt us.”

“The Metamorphus sounds very certain of this,” Bane sniffed as he paused in front of the group. “But I will forgive you for entering the forest on this one occasion, don’t expect me to be merciful again.”

“Thank you,” Remus said respectfully. “Would you mind explaining what you meant by saying none of us are guilty?”

Bane snorted and one of his heavy hoofs scuffed the ground impatiently. “It is written in the sky. The blue one knew of her fate and accepted it bravely.”

“Emile knew this was going to happen?” Fred repeatedly incredulously, eyes widening.

“Is that not what I said?” Bane retorted, nostrils flaring. “Now leave this forest, and don’t return quickly. There’s nothing for you here.”

He cantered off into the trees, letting the shadows swallow his lone figure.

“Why didn’t she tell us?” Fred asked, turning to face the group.

“Emile never trusted us with her secrets,” George muttered.

“We can discuss this more in the castle,” Remus stated, ushering the two boys out as Tonks extinguished the ball of light with a flick of her wand.

“Ginny will be heartbroken,” she murmured to Remus as they followed the silent twins in the direction of the castle.

“She isn’t the only one,” Remus replied with a lighthearted glance up at a downcast George.

“Yes, well,” Tonks paused, making sure Remus had locked eyes with her before saying, “I know how he feels.”

Remus stopped walking and sighed. “Nympha—”

“Don’t call me Nymphadora.”

“You like it when I call you Nymphadora.”

“That’s besides the point.”

Remus smiled sadly down at the auror. “I don’t want someone I care so much about getting hurt by my own hands.”

“Paws.”

“That’s a bit insensitive.”

“So is rebuking my affections.”

A loud sigh came from in front of them. Tonks and Remus looked up to see the twins waiting impatiently a few feet ahead of them.

“Stop your bickering,” Fred snapped. “It’s making George sad. And Lupin, just bang her already. It’s not that hard, mate.”

“I beg your pardon?” Remus gasped.

“Let’s go,” George grunted, head hanging low as he shuffled in the direction of the distant castle. Fred glanced at the couple before following.

“The poor scamp,” Tonks murmured as they followed the pair of redheads. “Where do you think they took her?”

“Probably to the same place Ollivander is,” Remus shrugged.

As they walked in silence, Remus’s hand brushed against the back of hers before reaching over a bit more, as if politely asking permission. She quickly took his hand and squeezed.

“You couldn’t hurt me with these hands.”

“How do you know that?” 

“You wouldn’t.”

“So they’re not paws?”

Tonks glance met Remus’s tired stare. 

“No.”

Remus squeezed her hand gently and looked towards the edge of the forest, which they were approaching quickly.

Tonks frowned up at him as the walked out of the forest and began climbing the slope up to the castle. “You don’t think they’re trying to release Bartemius, do you?”

Remus sighed. “I don’t know, but it sounds likely.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, neither one willing to let go of the other's hand.

“Dumbledore would know,” Remus said miserably. 

“No, he wouldn’t,” Tonks argued, squeezing his hand. “Dumbledore would have guessed. He was wrong about Snape, he could have been wrong about this too.”

“Dumbledore still would have known what to—” Remus’s voice was broken off as Tonks flung herself at him, standing on tiptoes and pulling his tie down with one hand as she planted her lips on his own.

“Don’t you dare compare yourself to Dumbledore,” she said fiercely as they broke apart.

Remus’s only response was to lean down and cup her face in his hand, pressing his warm lips against her own. Tonks couldn’t help but grin, despite the dire circumstances. She’d been waiting for this so long. Out of the corner of her half closed eyes, she caught sight of a wisp of her bright pink hair.

* * *

 


	78. His Holeyness

* * *

 

“It is balderdash, they shouldn’t be able to help! They just got out of school!”

“Molly, Harry’s their friend.”

“Arthur? Not you too, I won’t hear of this!”

“Mom, we’re of age. You can’t stop us from helping.”

“Ronald you are not going! And neither is Hermione! She’s suffered enough, poor girl. And her poor parents—”

“Molly—”

“Arthur, I said no.”

“You can’t stop them. Any of them, really. They are of age.”

“But, but Arthur—”

“Molly.”

There was a brief silence in which an audible sniffle came from Molly Weasley. 

“We’ve already lost so many,” she whispered as her husband drew her in for a hug.

“George?”

George felt a cold hand wrap around his clenched fist. He was standing in the entrance to the kitchen, back leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed as he glowered across the room at the group of people arguing by the kitchen table. The debate over who was to go with the Order to fetch Harry had been going on for several days, Ginny being the first to concede to their mother. The youngest ginger had her hand wrapped around George’s clench fist, gently massaging it open and slipping her hand through.

“You’re so tense,” she said with a small smile.

“I have reason to be,” George grunted as he shook her hand out of his, turning away from his sister and heading out of the kitchen.

“We all do,” Ginny persisted, following George as he started up the stairs. “We can’t help each other if we’re unwilling to talk about it.”

“Who said I needed help?” George huffed, eyebrows knitting together.

“George, this is ridiculous,” Ginny warned, her temper flaring. 

George paused on the steps outside of his room, hearing a faint sigh from Ginny as she caught up to him.

“What do you want to hear, Gin?” he said quietly, one hand on the door.

“That you know what you’re doing and you won’t recklessly go after Em.”

George winced at the mention of her name. No one knew what had happened to Emile and Bartemius after the death of Dumbledore. Tonks and Remus had been searching relentlessly, their new title as a married couple being the only happy thing to come out of the disaster of the previous month. And Bill and Fleur were next, coming up within the next week. Out of all the people to become their new sister in law, Bill had to chose Phlegm...

“George?”

Ginny’s questioning voice brought George back to the present, and his grip on the doorknob tightened. 

“I know what I’m doing and I’m not recklessly going after Emile.”

“Alright, I’ll pretend to believe that.”

In his peripheral vision George could see Ginny give a forced smile as he pushed open the door to his room and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

“What a mess,” he whispered, wading across the littered floor to his bed, the bottom bunk.

“What’s a mess?” came a chirp from above as George sat on his mattress with a sigh. A second later, Fred’s freckled face peered upside down at his brother. 

“What isn’t a mess?” George moaned and fell back onto his mattress.

“Ron and Hermione having any luck with mom?” Fred inquired as he swung onto the lower bunk, gripping a chocolate frog in his hand and choosing to ignore George’s question.

“Dad seems to be on their side, so I’d say the odds are in their favor,” George shrugged and broke off a bit of the chocolate frog, popping it into his mouth. 

“What about us, eh?”

George stared at his brother. “What about us? I mean, obviously we’re going.”

“Cheers, mate,” Fred grinned, biting into the frog's head. “Not like they’ve been able to stop us before.”

“Yeah,” George gave a small smile before leaning back on his bed, arms crossed behind his head. “Hey, Fred?”

“Yes, George?”

“You reckon Emile’s alright?”

Fred paused his chewing for a moment to look at his twin. “Now George, do you want my honest opinion or one of mums sugarcoated half-truths?”

“Honest opinion,” George said with a smirk, sitting up. “They wouldn’t hurt her, would they? They need her to get to Bartemius.”

“Yes, but George, mate,” Fred paused for a moment, scratching his head as he thought. “Alright, hold on.”

With a flick of his wand, Fred summoned a cup of water, mum’s cooking oil, and a straw.

“What is this?” George said with a from as his brother took a gulp out of the cup, so that it was roughly filled two thirds of the way with water. Then he stuck the straw in and opened the bottle of oil.

“Alright, say this here cup,” Fred jabbed at the cup with his pinky, “this is Emile’s body.”

“Alright,” George nodded.

“And the water represents her soul,” Fred stated as he began filing in the rest of the cup with oil. 

“And the oil, is Bartemius?” George frowned at the display in front of him. 

“Precisely!” Fred beamed, staring down at the cup in his hand. “You will notice, of course, how there is a lot more of Emile then there is of Bartemius, it being her body and all.”

“RIght,” George nodded. “Makes sense. What’s the straw for?”

“Let me finish,” Fred snapped, rolling his eyes. “Kids today are so impatient.”

George huffed but didn't respond. 

“The problem the Death Eaters have is that they want to see more of Bartemius than they do of Emile, and that means they’ve got to find a way to—” Fred paused and leaned forward, taking a long sip of water from the straw, “—drain her soul.”

George stared anxiously at the cup, hands kneading the mattress they were sitting on. “How do you do that?”

“No idea,” Fred shrugged, tossing the display into the bin next to their bed. It miraculously landed in without spilled any of its contents. “I have no doubt that the Death Eaters have some sort of soul sucking spell or potion or whatever. Perhaps they gave her a perfume titled Essence of Dementor.”

“How can you be treating this like a joke?” George seethed, leaning forward abruptly. “Your friend was taken by You-Know-Who, and you’re making soul sucking jokes? What the hell? Don’t you care?”

“Of course I care about Em,” Fred moaned, collapsing back on the bed. “I just don’t care as much as you.”

“Maybe you should,” George snapped, standing up from the bed. 

“Maybe, but I’m not in love with her, mate,” Fred said with a small smirk. “And I don’t think you'd appreciate it if I did.”

George stared at his smirking twin, mouth opening and closing as he attempting to think of a response. 

“You look like a fish,” Fred sniggered, tossing George’s pillow at him.

“Shut up” George muttered as he tossed the pillow back, but there was a small smile on his face.

“There’s the George we know and love,” Fred laughed, tossing the pillow up so that it landed on his bed. “Come on, mate. Moody wanted help with the new plan to bust Harry out.”

“Em would be the perfect person to do that,” George muttered as he followed his brother out of the room. “She had an O in Potions.”

“Yeah, and we’re plain useless,” Fred said with an eye roll. “Not like we brew potions for our shop all the time.”

“I guess you’re right.” George smirked and followed his twin down the stairs, to where his puffy eyed mother was angrily washing dishes in the kitchen.

“Boys,” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“Morning, mum,” Fred chirped, sitting down at the kitchen table. 

“You look dashing,” George said with a grin. “Any idea when Alastor plans on showing his lazy behind?”

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d want to see that,” came a familiar from the entrance to the kitchen.

Fred and George turned to see the familiar peg leg of Alastor Moody thump into the room, magical eye spinning in its socket. 

“Glad to see you all holding up,” Moody growled as he sunk into a chair next to George, real eye glancing at Mrs. Weasley’s puffy red eyes as the magical one swung back in his head.

“Just barely,” Fred muttered with a glance over at his mother. “So, Alastor. The potion? Polyjuice? We’re making duplicates then?”

“Aye,” Alastor Moody nodded. “I understand you two know how to get some supplies?”

“Depends on the supplies,” George said, leaning forward on his elbows. “Are we talking magical, or?”

“Identical clothing, knapsacks, cages, fake glasses, stuffed owls,” Mad Eye passed a roll of parchment over to Fred, looking at George. “For the decoy to work we need seven Harry Potters; each must be dressed identically and accordingly.”

“Alastor, you’ll be coming to the wedding, right?” Mrs. Weasley turned to give the auror an imploring look, one hand resting on her hip and the other holding a large frying pan. “I don’t recall receiving a response from you.”

“Molly, Molly, Molly,” Alastor shook his head and turned to Mrs Weasley. “Constant vigilance. What’s the point of telling you I’ll make it when nothing can be guaranteed?”

“Oh, Alastor,” Mrs. Weasley shook her head with a smile on her face. “Always the pessimist.”

“Somebody has to be,” Alastor grunted, turning towards the twins. “Can you get me what I need?”

Fred gave George a wink. “We’ve got you, Al.”

“Don’t call me Al, boy,” Alastor grumbled humorlessly, turning back to their mother. “Well, get to it. We don’t have all day.”

That evening, Fred, George, Ron, Hermione, Bill, and Fleur were all perched by the kitchen window, clutching cups of hot cocoa as they waited for the rest of the parties arrival. Alastor Moody was in another room with Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Tonks and Remus were taking their turn reassuring Molly that everything would go smoothly.

“Part of me is glad I’m not going with you guys, Ginny said for the third time from where she sat perched on the kitchen counter, legs swinging back and forth. “Though it will be nice to see Harry again.”

“Alright, but no snogging,” Ron said with a meaningful glance at his sister.

“You’re such a filthy hypocrite, Ronald,” Ginny snapped, arms crossing as she glared at her brother.

“Everyone ready?” Alastor growled as he thumped into the room, followed by Remus and Tonks.

“Wotcher! Lovely to see you all again,” Tonks chirped, beaming around at the group with her bright smile and bubblegum pink hair. “Ginny, has there been any news?”

As Ginny shook her head no, a loud rumble came from outside the hut, getting cut off abruptly as it neared the burrow. A few seconds later, the familiar figure of Hagrid came strutting past the kitchen window, on his way to the front door.

“Let’s go then,” Moody growled, thumping away down the hall. “Take care, Molly.”

“Bring him back safely,” Mrs. Weasley called after the group as she and Ginny followed them to the front door. “Bring them all back safely.”

Alastor Moody gave her a curt nod, magical eye spinning backwards as there was a loud knock that shook the door. The auror swung it open and led the group outside, meeting with a few latecomers who had arrived with Hagrid. George was standing off to the side with Fred, Ron, Hermione, and Mr. Weasley. Hagrid served as the barrier between them and the adults; Mad Eye, Kinsgley, Tonks, Lupin, Bill, Fleur, and Mundungus Fletcher.

“Dung!” Fred called, waving to the thief and former business partner. “Fancy seeing you out n about.”

“Yes, well, Alastor asked for m’ help personally,” Mundungus grunted, scratching his head with one hand.

“You can catch up later,” Mad Eye snapped, pulling out his wand. Thumping around the group of people, he gave everyone a good smack on the head, Ron gasping next to George as the person slowly began to blend in with the surroundings.

“It’s like those chameleons, it is,” Ron said, swearing a moment later as he got a thwack on the head with Alastor’s wand.

“Mount up,” Alastor grunted, pulling out his wand. “Bill, Fleur, you’re on one of the thestrals o’ Hagrid’s. Mundungus you foul piece of vertebrate, get back here. You’re with me on a broom. Arthur, take Fred. George, with Remus. Also by broom. Miss Granger with Kingsley, again on thestral. Tonks, you’re with Ron. Broom. Harry will be with Hagrid in the motorbike. I trust everyone knows the plan? Yes? No? Keep in mind, constant vigilance. Look at me when i'm talking, Weasley.”  

“Which one?” George, Fred, and Ron chimed together, grinning.

Alastor merely grunted and grabbed the discolored Mundungus by his collar, dragging him towards the edge of the yard. George shared an uncomfortable glance with Remus before mounting the broom in front of the older man, keeping a good number of centimeters away from the werewolf as they rose into the air. Part of him still hadn’t forgiven Tonks and Remus for not doing a better job of watching Emile, but another part of him strongly appreciated how much they were doing to try to get her back. 

In a short matter of time the group of them were descending down into Privet Drive, outside Harry’s house.

“We haven’t been here since we stole dad’s car,” Fred mused as they met on solid ground once again. “How was the flight?”

“Silent and cold,” George shivered. “Yours?”

“Freezing and full of lectures,” Fred said with a smirk. “Remus is doing what he can, mate. Don’t hold that against him.”

“Come on you lot!” Mad Eye shouted from where he was thumping up to Harry’s door, flicking his wand behind him. 

Their disillusionment charms lifted as they crowded around the door to Harry’s home, pushing inside eagerly. Chatter immediately broke out as Harry called out greetings to everyone, Ron and Hermione talking with him animatedly as he inquired about Kingsley. The group made their way into the kitchen talking loudly.

“Harry, guess what?” said Tonks from her perch on top of the washing machine, and she wiggled her left hand at him; a ring glittered there. 

“You got married?” Harry yelped, looking from her to Lupin. 

“I’m sorry you couldn’t be there, Harry, it was very quiet.” 

“That’s brilliant, congrat —” 

“All right, all right, we’ll have time for a cozy catch-up later!” roared Moody over the hubbub, and silence fell in the kitchen. “As Dedalus probably told you, we had to abandon Plan A. Pius Thicknesse has gone over, which gives us a big problem. He’s made it an imprisonable offense to connect this house to the Floo Network, place a Portkey here, or Apparate in or out. All done in the name of your protection, to prevent You-Know-Who getting in at you. Absolutely pointless, seeing as your mother’s charm does that already. What he’s really done is to stop you getting out of here safely. Second problem: You’re underage, which means you’ve still got the Trace on you.” 

Harry frowned and crossed his arms indignantly, eyes narrowing towards the ex-auror. “I don’t —”

“The Trace, the Trace!” said Mad-Eye impatiently. “The charm that detects magical activity around under-seventeens, the way the Ministry finds out about underage magic! If you, or anyone around you, casts a spell to get you out of here, Thicknesse is going to know about it, and so will the Death Eaters. We can’t wait for the Trace to break, because the moment you turn seventeen you’ll lose all the protection your mother gave you. In short: Pius Thicknesse thinks he’s got you cornered good and proper.” 

“So what are we going to do?” Harry asked, his frown lightening up.

“We’re going to use the only means of transport left to us, the only ones the Trace can’t detect, because we don’t need to cast spells to use them: brooms, thestrals, and Hagrid’s motorbike.” 

“Now, your mother’s charm will only break under two conditions: when you come of age, or” — Moody gestured around the pristine kitchen — “you no longer call this place home. You and your aunt and uncle are going your separate ways tonight, in the full understanding that you’re never going to live together again, correct?” 

Harry nodded. 

“So this time, when you leave, there’ll be no going back, and the charm will break the moment you get outside its range. We’re choosing to break it early, because the alternative is waiting for You-Know-Who to come and seize you the moment you turn seventeen. The one thing we’ve got on our side is that You-Know-Who doesn’t know we’re moving you tonight. We’ve leaked a fake trail to the Ministry: They think you’re not leaving until the thirtieth. However, this is You-Know-Who we’re dealing with, so we can’t just rely on him getting the date wrong; he’s bound to have a couple of Death Eaters patrolling the skies in this general area, just in case. So, we’ve given a dozen different houses every protection we can throw at them. They all look like they could be the place we’re going to hide you, they’ve all got some connection with the Order: my house, Kingsley’s place, Molly’s Auntie Muriel’s — you get the idea.” 

“Yeah,” said Harry, looking incredibly confused.

Fred bumped George in the elbow as Mad Eye continued his explaining. “Think Harry might have some thoughts on whatever might have happened to Em?”

“They already asked him about it,” George said, some bitter feelings of resentment returning from a few weeks prior. “He was too focused on Snape, he didn’t see anything.”

“Unfortunate,” Fred grumbled, as Harry gave a startling shout.

“No!” he said loudly, his voice ringing through the kitchen. “No way!” 

“I told them you’d take it like this,” said Hermione with a hint of complacency. 

“If you think I’m going to let six people risk their lives — !” 

“— because it’s the first time for all of us,” said Ron. 

“This is different, pretending to be me —” 

“Well, none of us really fancy it, Harry,” said Fred earnestly. “Imagine if something went wrong and we were stuck as specky, scrawny gits forever.” 

Harry did not smile. 

“You can’t do it if I don’t cooperate, you need me to give you some hair.” 

“Well, that’s that plan scuppered,” said George. “Obviously there’s no chance at all of us getting a bit of your hair unless you cooperate.” 

“Yeah, thirteen of us against one bloke who’s not allowed to use magic; we’ve got no chance,” said Fred. 

“Funny,” said Harry, “really amusing.” 

“If it has to come to force, then it will,” growled Moody, his magical eye now quivering a little in its socket as he glared at Harry. “Everyone here’s overage, Potter, and they’re all prepared to take the risk.” 

Mundungus shrugged and grimaced; the magical eye swerved sideways to glare at him out of the side of Moody’s head. 

“Let’s have no more arguments. Time’s wearing on. I want a few of your hairs, boy, now.” 

“But this is mad,” came the expected objection, “there’s no need —” 

“No need!” snarled Moody. “With You-Know-Who out there and half the Ministry on his side? Potter, if we’re lucky he’ll have swallowed the fake bait and he’ll be planning to ambush you on the thirtieth, but he’d be mad not to have a Death Eater or two keeping an eye out, it’s what I’d do. They might not be able to get at you or this house while your mother’s charm holds, but it’s about to break and they know the rough position of the place. Our only chance is to use decoys. Even You-Know-Who can’t split himself into seven. So, Potter — some of your hair, if you please.” 

Harry glanced at Ron, who grimaced at him in a just-do-it sort of way. 

“Now!” barked Moody. With all of their eyes upon him, 

Harry reached up to the top of his head, grabbed a hank of hair, and pulled. 

“Good,” said Moody, limping forward as he pulled the stopper out of the flask of potion. “Straight in here, if you please.” 

Harry dropped the hair into the mudlike liquid. The moment it made contact with its surface, the potion began to froth and smoke, then, all at once, it turned a clear, bright gold. 

“Ooh, you look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry,” said Hermione, before catching sight of Ron’s raised eyebrows, blushing slightly, and saying, “Oh, you know what I mean — Goyle’s potion looked like bogies.” 

“Right then, fake Potters line up over here, please,” said Moody. 

Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, and Fleur lined up in front of Aunt Petunia’s gleaming sink. 

“We’re one short,” said Lupin. 

“Here,” said Hagrid gruffly, and he lifted Mundungus by the scruff of the neck and dropped him down beside Fleur, who wrinkled her nose pointedly and moved along to stand between Fred and George instead. Fred gave George a provocative eyebrow wiggle as Moody glared at the thief.

“I’ve toldjer, I’d sooner be a protector,” said Mundungus. 

“Shut it,” growled Moody. “As I’ve already told you, you spineless worm, any Death Eaters we run into will be aiming to capture Potter, not kill him. Dumbledore always said You-Know-Who would want to finish Potter in person. It’ll be the protectors who have got the most to worry about, the Death Eaters’ll want to kill them.” 

Mundungus did not look particularly reassured, but Moody was already pulling half a dozen eggcup-sized glasses from inside his cloak, which he handed out, before pouring a little Polyjuice Potion into each one. 

“Altogether, then . . .” 

Ron, Hermione, Fred, George, Fleur, and Mundungus drank. All of them gasped and grimaced as the potion hit their throats, a vile liquid that tasted like a toddlers attempt of burnt scrambled eggs sweetened with honey. At once, their features began to bubble and distort like hot wax. Hermione and Mundungus were shooting upward; Ron, Fred, and George were shrinking; their hair was darkening, Hermione’s and Fleur’s appearing to shoot backward into their skulls. 

Moody, quite unconcerned, was now loosening the ties of the large sacks he had brought with him. When he straightened up again, there were six Harry Potters gasping and panting in front of him. 

Fred turned to George, George turned to Fred, and together they said, “Wow — we’re identical!” 

“I dunno, though, I think I’m still better-looking,” said Fred, examining his reflection in the kettle. 

“Bah,” said Fleur, checking herself in the microwave door, “Bill, don’t look at me — I’m ’ideous.” 

“Those whose clothes are a bit roomy, I’ve got smaller here,” said Moody, indicating the first sack, “and vice versa. Don’t forget the glasses, there’s six pairs in the side pocket. And when you’re dressed, there’s luggage in the other sack.” 

“I knew Ginny was lying about that tattoo,” said Ron, looking down at his bare chest. 

“Harry, your eyesight really is awful,” said Hermione, as she put on glasses. 

Once dressed, the fake Harrys took rucksacks and owl cages, each containing a stuffed snowy owl, from the second sack. 

“Good,” said Moody, as at last seven dressed, bespectacled, and luggage-laden Harrys faced him. “The pairs will be as follows…”

George tuned out Moody’s review and turned to Fred.

“What if there are Death Eater out there tonight?” He whispered, his voice low and dangerous. “What if, what if she’s here?”

“Don’t worry, she won’t be,” Fred said quietly.

“You think she’s safe?” George asked quietly.

“I think that there’s a high chance we may run into Bartemius tonight,” Fred said quietly in response, turning back towards Alastor. “Very high.”

George gave a shaky breath as he turned back to the group. Hermione was standing by Kingsley again, and Harry and Hagrid were leading everyone outside. Grabbing hold of their fake owls and luggage, Fred and George ran out after the group, reuniting with their protectors for the night.

“George?” Lupin questioned as he approached where the werewolf stood. 

George stiffened. Of course, Lupin just one of the many Harry’s walking up to him. 

“No, I’m Fred.”

“Are you, really?”

“Course I am, I’m the better looking one.”

Lupin gave George a look through narrowed eyes. But, such is the magic of polyjuice potion, you wouldn’t be able to tell George apart from the real Harry. 

“Well, Fred, I’ll trust that this is you,” Lupin said hesitantly. “Is George still upset with us? Tonks and I?”

“A bit, yeah,” George shrugged.

“Alright then George, let’s mount up.”

George stared at Lupin in surprise.

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Lupin smirked. “You may be able to lie in your own body, but you look like Harry now.”

“Damn,” George muttered, clambering up onto the broom, attaching the cage with the owl to the front of the broom and slugging the sack over his shoulders.

“We’re trying our best to find her, George,” Lupin said quietly. 

“I know,” George muttered, his face flushing involuntarily. Lupin was right, he had no idea how to control Harry’s body.

At that moment Hagrid kicked the motorbike into life: It roared like a dragon, Harry clutching the sidecar as he looked around at all of them. 

“Good luck, everyone,” shouted Moody. “See you all in about an hour at the Burrow. On the count of three. One . . . two . . . THREE.” 

On Moody’s count Lupin kicked off his broom, along with everyone else. George held on tight and watched as Kingsley and Hermione took off below them, appearing to float on nothing as they whipped past George and Lupin with a whoosh that nearly knocked off George’s cheap glasses. A moment later they entered the cloud layer, and a thick silence surrounded them. George held his breath as it dragged on, and on, and on… 

And then, out of nowhere, out of nothing, they were surrounded. At least thirty hooded figures, suspended in midair, formed a vast circle in the midst of which the Order members had risen, oblivious. 

There were several screams, the most identifiable ones being from Hermione and Mundungus as green sparks flew at them from every side and their organized circle was scattered. 

“Let’s draw their fire!” Lupin hollered over the noise as George clutched onto the broom for dear life.

They turned are rode off into the night, a hoard of cloaked figures following in their wake. From the corner of his eye, George caught sight of Hagrid breaking through a line of Death Eaters, a brick wall falling through the air behind him seconds later. Mad Eye was struggling with Mundungus, followed by Bill and Fleur. And then they flew through a cloud, and George lost sight of them. He ducked to avoid a red curse as three death eaters flocked after them, cloaks lowered. A fourth was hot on their tails, his wand raised.

“Your wand!” Lupin hissed, steering the broom shakily to avoid more sparks and spells.

George wasn’t paying attention.

He didn’t care if it was ridiculous, but he recognized that wand. He recognized those wrists. He’d watch them furiously write essays and wonder how it would feel to hold the soft hands they led to. Was it weird to miss those slender wrists?

“George, duck!”

Next thing George knew he was waking to the sight of his panicking twin brother.

“How do you feel, Georgie?” whispered Mrs. Weasley, leaning into his field of vision. 

George’s fingers groped for the side of his head. 

“Saintlike,” he murmured, dazed. He loved Emile’s wrists, her face, her perky little ears. Ears. Ear. The irony. 

“What’s wrong with him?” croaked Fred, looking terrified. “Is his mind affected?” “

Saintlike,” repeated George, opening his eyes wider and looking up at his brother. “You see . . . I’m holy. Holey, Fred, geddit?” 

“Pathetic,” Fred told George. “Pathetic! With the whole wide world of ear-related humor before you, you go for holey?” 

“Ah well,” said George, grinning at his tear-soaked mother, in an attempt to make her feel better. “You’ll be able to tell us apart now, anyway, Mum.” 

How could she have been there?


	79. The Poor Grooms Bride Is a-

The large clock inside the house was loudly chiming three o’clock in the afternoon. George was outside with Fred, Ron, and Harry.  They were standing outside the great white marquee in the orchard, awaiting the arrival of the wedding guests. Harry had taken a large dose of Polyjuice Potion and was now the double of a redheaded Muggle boy from the local village, Ottery St. Catchpole, from whom Fred had stolen hairs using a Summoning Charm. The plan was to introduce Harry as “Cousin Barny” and trust to the great number of Weasley relatives to camouflage him.

All four of them were clutching seating plans, so that they could help show people to the right seats. A host of white-robed waiters had arrived an hour earlier, along with a golden jacketed band, and all of these wizards were currently sitting a short distance away under a tree. One could see a blue haze of pipe smoke issuing from the spot.

Behind them, the entrance to the marquee revealed rows and rows of fragile golden chairs set on either side of a long purple carpet. The supporting poles are entwined with white and gold flowers. Fred and George had fastened an enormous bunch of golden balloons over the exact point where Bill and Fleur would shortly become husband and wife. Outside, butterflies and bees were hovering lazily over the grass and hedgerow.

“When I get married,” said Fred, tugging at the collar of his own robes, “I won’t be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I’ll put a full Body Bind Curse on Mum until it’s all over.”

“She wasn’t too bad this morning, considering,” said George. “Cried a bit about Percy not being here, but who wants him? Oh blimey, brace yourselves— here they come, look.”

George didn’t want to bring up the other reason his mom was crying. There hadn’t been any official sighting of Emile since the battle where Dumbledore had been murdered by Snape. Severus Snape. George’s fist clenched at the thought of him. Now he had a personal score to settle with his old Potions Master, payback for cursing off his ear. If he hadn’t been so distracted with hope of Em’s presence. Emile had trusted Snape, and that had always been enough for George. But now...

Brightly colored figures were appearing, one by one, out of nowhere at the distant boundary of the yard. Within minutes a procession had formed, which began to snake its way up through the garden toward the marquee. Exotic flowers and bewitched birds fluttered on the witches’ hats, while precious gems glittered from man of the wizards’ cravats; a hum of excited chatter grew louder and louder, drowning the sound of the bees as the crowd approached the tent.

“Excellent, I think I see a few veela cousins,” said George, craning his neck for a better look. “They’ll need help understanding our English customs, I’ll look after them. . . . ”

“Not so fast, Your Holeyness,” said Fred, and darting past the gaggle of middle-aged witches heading the procession, he said, “Here—permettez-moi to assiter vous,” to a pair of pretty French girls, who giggled and allowed him to escort them inside. George was left to deal with the middle-aged witches and Ron took charge of Mr. Weasley’s old Ministry colleague Perkins, while a rather deaf old couple fell to Harry’s lot.

“Wotcher, George,” said Tonks as she skipped up with Remus. Her hair was blonde for the occasion. “You look smashing.”

“Thanks, Tonks. Hello, Remus,” George nodded to the two of them, glad for an excuse to leave a rather rude pregnant couple to seat themselves. “Is there any news?”

Remus shook his head. “Not one bit. We believe they might have taken her off to their hideout.”

“I don’t think they would kill her,” Tonks put in, not at all helpful. “She has a rather well known member inside of her. They’d be too scared of killing him too.”

The couple bid George farewell and walked over to where Harry was standing in his muggle disguise as the familiar figure of Lee Jordan approached George.

“Good to see this place again,” Lee commented vaguely. “Haven’t been here in years.”

“Yeah,” George winced. “We probably should have invited you around more often when—”

George broke off as Lee covered his face his one of his hands.

“Dude, I love her to death, but I’m also trying to have a good time.”

George nodded in understanding. “Me too. It’s just hard not to think about her, about everything, really.”

He stared at his friend, hoping his eyes could convey an unspoken message between them. Mid-July, Lee had burst into their apartment and yelled at George for a solid hour about his incompetence at protecting anyone. They had had quite a row, and several unpleasant words had been exchanged between the two of them whilst Fred attempted to smooth things over.

Lee narrowed his eyes and nodded in understanding, giving George a pat on the back before walking over to where Fred was talking to a familiar gigantic man. Hagrid was causing a certain amount of disruption. Having misunderstood Fred’s directions he had sat himself, not upon the magically enlarged and reinforced seat set aside for him in the back row, but on five seats that now resembled a large pile of golden matchsticks.

Several more accidents and a crowd of people later, George found himself walking past Ron, Hermione, and ‘Cousin Barny’. Ron seemed a bit red in the face as he looked at his female friend, so George lingered by to listen to their conversation.

“What are you up to?” Fred called out as he waltzed up to his twin.

George jerked his head in the direction of the trio, raising his eyebrows to Fred. Fred shrugged, and the two of them began to approach the group.

“Your Great—Aunt Muriel doesn’t agree, I just met her upstairs while she was giving Fleur the tiara. She says, ‘Oh dear, is this the Muggle-born?’ and then, ‘Bad posture and skinny ankles.”’

“Don’t take it personally, she’s rude to everyone,” said Ron.

“Talking about Muriel?” inquired George, emerging with Fred. “Yeah, she just told me my ears are lopsided. Old bat. I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings.”

“Wasn’t he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four hours later?” asked Hermione.

“Well, yeah, he went a bit odd toward the end,” conceded George.

“But before he went loopy he was the life and soul of the party.” said Fred. “He used to down an entire bottle of firewhiskey, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his—”

“Yes, he sounds a real charmer,” said Hermione, while Harry roared with laughter.

“Never married, for some reason,” said Ron.

“You amaze me,” said Hermione. They were all laughing so much that none of them noticed the latecomer, a dark-haired young man, until he held out his invitation to Ron and said, with his eyes on Hermione, “You look vunderful.”

“Viktor!” she shrieked, and dropped her small beaded bag, which made a loud thump quite disproportionate with its size. As she scrambled, blushing, to pick it up, she said, “I didn’t know you were—goodness—it’s lovely to see—how are you again?”

George felt an elbow jab into his side as Fred nudged him. Nudging his twin back, the two of them made eye contact and Fred jerked his head towards the entrance to the marquee. Nearly everyone was seated and the small band was warming up.

“Time to sit down, ” Fred told Harry, “or we’re going to get run over by the bride.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione took their seats in the second row behind Fred and George. Fred was eyeing the veela cousins on the other side of the aisle, and when they noticed and giggled, he sent them a little wink.

“Oh, come on,” George teased and gave his brother a nudge. “Angelina isn’t enough for you?”

Fred’s ears turned pink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.”

A sense of jittery anticipation had filled the warm tent, the general murmuring broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives: Mrs. Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of amethyst-colored robes with a matching hat. A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with large white roses in their buttonholes; Fred wolf whistled and there was an outbreak of giggling from the veela cousins. Then the crowd fell silent as music swelled from what seemed to be the golden balloons.

A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the aisle, Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dresses and seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow. While her radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everyone it fell upon. Ginny and Gabrielle, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual, and once Fleur had reached him, Bill did not look as though he had ever met Fenrir Greyback.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said a slightly singsong voice. The same small, tufty-haired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore’s funeral was now standing in front of Bill and Fleur. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls . . . ”

“Yes, my tiara sets off the whole thing nicely,” said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. “But I must say, Ginevra’s dress is far too low cut.”

Ginny glanced around, grinning, winked at Harry, then quickly faced the front again.

“Keep those two apart,” Fred mumbled into George’s ear.

“I walked in on them snogging yesterday,” George mumbled back, and Fred seemed to attempt to stifle his exasperated sigh.

“Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle. . . . ?”

In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Trumpet like sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs. Fred jokingly wiped tears from his eyes.

“ . . . then I declare you bonded for life.”

The tufty-haired wizard waved his wand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiraling around their now entwined figures. As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst: Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” called the tufty-haired wizard. “If you would please stand up!”

They all did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly; he waved his wand again. The seats on which they had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that they stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the center of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth around it, and the golden-jacketed hand trooped toward a podium.

“Brilliant,” George said with a grin as waiters with beverages and small cakes and sandwiches popped up around the room.

“Here,” Fred said as he took four glasses of butterbeer off one of the trays. “Help me take these to the Veela.”

“You aren’t one for wasting time, are you?” George grinned and rolled his eyes.

It took several tries, but the pair of cousins were finally tempted by Fred’s charm and the delicious champagne. The two of them giggled as Fred and George bestowed their blessing upon Lee, allowing him to dance with their precious baby sister.

Once the cake was cut the four of them disappeared into the murky night, plates of cake in their hands, intent on stargazing on one of the nearby hills. The french girls, who were extremely pretty, were very ditzy. Fred took his time explaining where the most common constellations were in the sky at that moment, since the girls didn’t completely see them or even understand the basics of astrology.

George eventually lay down in the grass with the other, attempting to block out the noise of giggles from next to him as he watched the sky above him.

“Ah, a shooting star!” one of the girls exclaimed as a wisp of silver streaked over the darkness above them.

“That doesn’t look like any shooting star I’ve ever seen,” Fred said hesitantly, standing up and squinting into the sky.

Sure enough, the streak of silver came closer, hovering almost lazily in the sky above them.

“What is it?” George asked curiously, standing up beside his brother.

“Eet ees like a fog,” the other french girl added helpfully, grabbing hold of Fred’s right arm while the other grabbed hold of his left.

At that moment the mist descended upon them, scattering the group so that it formed a wall between the twins and the cousins. It swirled around Fred and George, the silver so faint that they could see straight through it.

“What ees eet?!” the french girls shrieked.

“Shut up!” roared George, his blood running cold. There was a voice coming from the fog, so faint that it could barely be heard over the distant music from the wedding.

“Can you hear that?” Fred whispered to his brother.

George nodded, straining his ears.

_“I can’t stop it, but they’re coming, and I’ll be with them, but I won’t be me. I’m so scared that they’ll punish me. Get everyone out, please. Get them all to safety and-”_

“It’s Emile!” Fred gasped, reaching out towards the mist.

“Shut up!” George hissed, clamping his hand over his brothers mouth.

_“-and it’s so cold all the time, so very cold. But forget about me, save the others. The ministry has fallen. Save the others. The ministry has fallen, and you are all going to die. George-”_

“Look!” came a screech from the girls.

“Emile,” George whispered, stretching out his fingers as the silver fog faded away.

“George,” came a whisper from Fred as the sky above them lit up with an unnaturally bright light. A ball of white was careening through the air towards the tent.

“Come on!” Fred yelled, running back to the party.

“We arr not going back a there!” the cousins yelled after them as they charged down the slope, the voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt pounding through the air.

_“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming. The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming. The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”_

George ran faster as the booming voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt filled the once happy atmosphere.

“That’s what Emile said!” Fred yelled to George as they skid to a halt at the bottom of the hill.

“We’ve got to save them!” George yelled as he ran past.

“George!”

_“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming. The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming. They are coming. They are coming.”_

Everything seemed fuzzy, slow. Around him people were screaming, trying to locate their families and disapparate from the area. Adults were raising their wands into the air, shouting “Protengo!” over and over.

“Ron!” George yelled, searching for his family. “Ginny! Mum! Dad!”

“George!” came a shriek behind him.

George turned quickly as his sister crashed into him, grabbing his arm. “Stay with me, please.”

“Have you seen the others?” George yelled over the dim.

Ginny nodded. “Ron disapparated with Hermione and Harry. Fred’s by the entrance to the tent, and Mum and Dad are with Bill, Fleur, and her parents.”

“Take me to them, we’ll grab Fred on the way.”

Ginny nodded and began to pull him through the crowd, swerving towards the entrance so that George could grab hold of his brothers arm.

“What’s going on?” Fred yelled over the noise.

At that moment, balls of thick grey smoke dropped out of the sky, circling the party. George caught a glimpse of Remus hugging Tonks tightly as the two disapparated from outside the tent, Tonks clutching tightly onto her husband’s chest.

“George! Fred! Ginny!” Mum was close to tears as the trio ran up to where she was waiting with their father and the newlywed couple. Whether those tears were from fear or fright, George couldn’t say.

“What’s the plan?” Fred asked their father eagerly, gripping his wand with one hand and Ginny’s hand in the other.

Arthur Weasley stared at his family with cold eyes. “We’ve done nothing wrong. Let them come and question us, then they’ll be on their merry way. Harry was never here. Only Cousin Barny.”

“Cousin Barny,” Ginny repeated, eyes glittering.

“Have they gone?” Mum asked in a low voice. The three nodded, and she put her hand over her face.

Around what was left of the Weasley family, balls of smoke were slamming into the ground, filling the air with dark whisps. The screaming was getting quieter as more people left. And the family stood there, waiting for the enemy to come to them.

Hooded figures were descending out of the balls of black smoke, wands held aloft. Somewhere a small child was sobbing for its mother, whilst Aunt Muriel swatted at one of the figures with her cane.

“SILENCE.”

A booming voice echoed throughout the yard as the hooded figures lifted their wands in unison, collapsing the tent above them. George squinted as one of the figures walked over the the large pile of cloth and wood, setting it ablaze with a spark out of their wand.

“Is it Bellatrix?” Ginny growled, gripping her wand.

“Don’t you do magic outside of school, young lady,” Mrs. Weasley growled into her daughter's ear as the remaining guests backed away from the flickering bonfire.

Another hooded figure walked over to where the first was standing in front of the fire, illuminated by the light. The two turned around, lowering their hoods as they did so.

Out of the corner of his eye, George saw Lee cover his mouth with his hands and fall to his knees.

“Rudolphus Lestrange,” growled Mr. Weasley on George’s left, crossing his arms. “What is the meaning of this?”

If Rudolphus responded, George didn’t hear. He was too busy staring at the other figure, the one that left Lee dumbfounded. Dressed in all black, hair tangled and wild. But the eyes, the brown eyes. Those weren’t the green eyes they had once been.

“Emile?” Ginny’s whisper sounded next to George.

The once gorgeous head snapped up, faded blue hair illuminated by the fire.

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the charming Weasleys.”

The voice was disturbing, inhumane and scratchy. It had a dull echo to it, and it spoke in two separate tones. As if two or more people were speaking in unison.

“That’s not Emile,” Fred whispered to Ginny, putting a hand on her shoulder. “It’s someone else in there now.”

“I always wondered if I’d get a chance to meet you myself, instead of watching through the eyes of my prison,” the figure who had once been Emile drawled on. It waltzed over to them, a wild grin on it’s face.

“I must say, Georgie, you are quite the looker. Especially now that you’re so… holey? Is that what you would call it?” It chuckled, a cackle that cause even Bill to wince away. “That’s what she says you would call it, anyways.”

“What do you want, Bartemius?” Fred asked in a bored voice.

Bartemius whipped Emile’s head towards the other twin. “Well Freddie, you very well know.”

“You’re after Harry,” Fred said, expressionless.

“Oh, well done, Fred,” Bartemius laughed and began clapping. “Very well done. Correct, too. And here I thought you were just a dulled down version of your brother.”

“Enough of this,” Rudolphus snapped, glaring at Bartemius as he strode up. “You’re wasting our time, boy.”

“Of course, Rudolphus,” Bartemius visibly flinched away from the Death Eater.

“He’s scared of him,” Ginny said in a barely audible whisper.

“Your ministry of magic has been taken over,” Rudolphus said as he strode over to the group until he was directly in front of Mr. Weasley. “There’s no use hiding him. We have all of the recourses the wizarding world has to offer.”

“How many times do I have to tell you, we don’t have Harry Potter,” Mr. Weasley’s face was red, and his knuckles were white from gripping his wand so tightly.

“Where else would he be?” Rudolphus snapped.

“If he was here than the other guests would have seen him,” Bartemius interrupted, striding across the yard to a group of french girls. “Have you seen a young boy with black hair and green eyes.

“Nous avons rien fait,” a girl responded in French, trembling as she gazed up at the somewhat Death Eater.

Bartemius blinked and nodded before responding back in French, and the two had a brief conversation.

“Are you done?” Rudolphus snapped as a tear streaked down the girl's cheek.

“They haven’t seen him,” Bartemius concluded as he walked back up to the senior Death Eater.

Rudolphus slowly turned back to Arthur Weasley, taking a step closer to the Ministry worker and leaning forward till they were centimeters apart.

“We’ll be watching you,” he said with a small smile. “There’s no one around to prevent us from doing so.”

“For now,” Ginny responded hotly.

With a snap of his fingers, Rudolphus turned on his heel. “Bartemius, teach the youngest a lesson.”

Bartemius let out a sickening giggle. “With pleasure, Rudolphus.”

“Ginny!” George yelled as his sister was yanked out of his grasp by an invisible force, a small gasp escaping from her lips.

“Not my daughter!” Molly Weasley leaped forward, wand drawn, to be held back by another cloaked figure. The Death Eaters formed a circle around Bartemius and Ginny, but they couldn’t stand up to the mass of wedding guests that remained behind.

“Finish her!” Rudolphus was yelling from where he dueled with Fleur’s parents.

“My wand, it’s not working!”

George ducked behind his brother, staring over the cloaked heads at the contorted face of his friend. The panic was poorly concealed in the deranged brown eyes of Bartemius as he angrily shook the wand in his hand.

Ginny took a step closer to the figure in front of her. “Emile? I know you’re in there.”

“Emile’s gone, foolish girl.” Bartemius’s reply was barely heard over a shout from Rudolphus.

“Bartemius, we’re leaving in five!”

Bartemius fell over, curling into a ball.

“Please, come back to us!” Ginny begged, taking a step closer.

“Four!” came a following shout from Rudolphus.

Bartemius looked up, his eyes flashing green for a split second, long enough for a tear to appear in the corner of the familiar narrow eyes.

“Three!”

Ginny leaned down a bit as Bartemius lifted a trembling hand upward to touch his pale, wet cheeks.

“Em?”

“Two!”

The hand reached down and picked up the familiar larch wand, clutching it tightly in its hand.

“One!”

The figure stood up, causing Ginny to jump back in fright as several death eaters around the duo began to disapparate, and Bartemius glared down at her.

“Your friend is gone.”

There was a sharp crack as Bartemius snapped Emile’s larch wand in half, tossing the splintered ends at Ginny’s feet.

“Zero!”

Rudolphus grabbed hold of Bartemius’s arm as he apparated away from the Burrow, pulling him along as they turned into nothingness.

“Ginny!” Mrs. Weasley ran up to her daughter, sobbing, as the youngest Weasley stared in shock at the broken wand at her feet. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, physically,” Ginny managed to croak out before crying alongside her mother.

In the broken silence that followed, while the remaining guests gathered up their families in silence and disapparated into the night, Mr. Weasley raised his wand.

“Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched.”

With that he shot a streak of silver into the air, and watched it sail through the night sky.

Bill wrapped his arms tightly around a sobbing Fleur, looking down into his wife’s eyes. “I think we may have to put off the honeymoon for a bit.”

Fleur gave a small chuckle through her tears before burying her face into her husband's neck.

In the center of the yard, a burning fire illuminated the halves of a once sleek and powerful wand. George watched Lee slowly walk up to it and fall to his knees, picking up the two halves of wood. As if it could sense a familiar presence, the gleaming phoenix feather core gave a final spark of light before turning to dust.

* * *

 


	80. Breaking In

* * *

 

“We cannot have another… mistake… such as the one that happened last night. Do you understand, Bartemius?”

“Yes, master.”

Rudolphus was frowning next to Bellatrix as she smirked from a corner of the parlor at Malfoy Manor, her crazed eyes boring into Bartemius’s with a look of seething hatred before turning to the dark lord, her eyes glistening with adoration.

“Will she not get punished, my lord?” Bellatrix questioned sweetly. “After all, she did disobey your direct orders. You could see that it gave those traitors hope to see her preventing him from hurting them.”

The Dark Lord held up a pale hand. “Peace, Bellatrix. We cannot punish Emile without also punishing Bartemius. I will let it go, this time.” He turned back to Bartemius, red eyes narrowed. “Understand, Bartemius, that by the next raid I expect you to be in full control of your vessel. We cannot afford any more… accidents.”

“Yes, master. Thank you,” Bartemius bowed before exiting the room, his heart pounding. Or, Emile’s heart. Did he feel guilty for taking over the body of someone who had been so kind to him? Someone he respected deeply? Someone he had even grown quite fond of? Well, yes, but anything can make you feel guilty if you put it like that.

Lost in thought, Bartemius didn’t realize where he was walking. He found himself in a part of the manor unknown to him, with elegant paintings and large, ornate mirrors. A noise behind him caused him to jump around, hand on a wand he had stolen from one of the prisoners.

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” the skinny figure snarled.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Bartemius snorted, tucking the wand back into his pocket. It wasn’t worth it to waste magical efforts on Draco Malfoy.

“Um, I live here?” Draco snapped, crossing his skinny arms. “What’s your excuse?”

“I refused to die,” Bartemius smirked.

“Unfortunately,” Draco grumbled before turning away from him. “You know, I could respect Gorska, despite the fact that she befriended traitors and mudbloods. What you did to her was just wrong.”

“Are you referring to how I tortured her mother into insanity?” Bartemius forced a smile onto his face, hoping his eyes didn’t give away how truly surprised he was by Draco’s outburst.

“That too.”

Draco Malfoy defending Emile Gorska. Bartemius dwelled on the thought as he turned away from Draco and began walking back up the hall.

“Take better care of that body. It’s starting to stink, and the hair looks terrible! You could at least try to appear presentable!” Draco’s snarl drifted down the hallway to Bartemius as he turned the corner and climbed up an elegant staircase to the second landing, where he had been giving a room to consider his own.

Every corner he turned, another death eater waited. Some would snap at him, others would lecture him. Some would even congratulate him on failing to die. In the solitude of the room he had been assigned, Bartemius stared at his current body. It was filthy, but he wasn’t ready to undress a female body. He didn’t have the faintest idea of how to put on a bra. Taking it off was simple enough, but putting one on was a challenge.

Emile was hiding, sheltering herself from causing them more suffering than they already endured. After he saved her from the extensive exposure to the cruciatus curse, knowing that if it lasted much longer she would end up in the same state as her mother. She wasn’t stupid, she knew that this was the only way to protect the people she cared about, as much as she hated it. 

Bartemius somewhat enjoyed being back in his old ranks, his respect for the Dark Lord had grown when the Dark Lord forgave him for his mistakes. He understood the pain of being attached to another's body, helpless and alone. 

But Bartemius hadn’t been alone. Emile had almost welcomed him; well, she seemed to get used to him quickly enough. She had called him her friend. And what kind of a friend did this?

**_But you let me do this._ **

Bartemius’s argument went unanswered. He couldn’t communicate with Emile the way she had been able to communicate with him, since it wasn’t his body. When he had tried she had sent that patronus message to George, nearly costing them both their lives. Teasing George about being holey without his ear, Bartemius had come up with that. He had no idea what Emile though. But it pleased Rodolphus to see him jeer and use his vessel to get what they needed.

Rodolphus Lestrange was horrifying…

Bartemius remembered him from Hogwarts, when the older Slytherin would bully and tease him relentlessly. He had pretended to be nice, being somewhat supportive of the younger Slytherin when they ended up sharing a dorm room. But when Bartemius revealed his crush on Bellatrix, Rodolphus had wasted no time telling everyone. In a way, Bartemius was grateful. It taught him to own up to his mistakes. But the moment he took control of the fact that he was desperately in love with one of the Black sisters, Rodolphus and Amycus began hurting him in unimaginable ways. Bartemius was often the victim of their temperamental mood swings and frustrations, especially Rodolphus’s. Amycus always apologized afterwards, even helping him clean up, but Rodolphus was ruthless. Bartemius feared him. Bartemius hated him. 

He clenched his fist and leaned against the door to his room, sighing deeply.

**_I know you’re scared, but we’ve got to keep this act up._ **

Bartemius stepped into his room, a tall bedroom with long black drapes decorating the walls. A pile of dark robes had been left in the dresser for Bartemius’s use, though he had yet to touch them. They were a mix and match of male and female robes, something Emile would have doubtlessly approved of. Bartemius was simply relieved he didn’t have to wear a dress. 

Shivering, Bartemius stepped into the bathroom connected to his bedroom. He had covered up the mirror with a black drape so that he wouldn’t have to face Emile’s nude reflection. Slowly, he removed every bit of clothing on the body he inhabited, refusing for a split second to look down at it. Stepping into the shower, Bartemius let the water run of the body, lathering up the places he was willing to touch with soap and shampoo. He couldn’t feel the heat of the water pouring over him. This wasn’t his body, and he hadn’t gotten to that point yet. At first it had been difficult to simply walk, so he’d made some progress.

Stepping out of the shower, Bartemius dried himself off with a thick, black towel, and stepped into his room, completely naked, immediately he let out a screech and went to cover his parts, eyes bulging at the trespasser lounging leisurely on his bed. 

“Bella!”

“Barty!” Bellatrix sneered back in a high pitched, mocking tone. “Well, I certainly see why you chose this vessel.”

The Death Eater stood up, long black robes billowing behind her as she circled a nude, beet red Bartemius, slowly running her hand along the skin. 

“Very nice,” Bellatrix purred, pausing in front of him to look the body up and down.

Merlin, how Bartemius wished he could feel her fingers on the skin.

“I’m here to help you maintain it,” Bellatrix continued briskly, sliding over to the wardrobe and pulling it open. “How do you feel about dresses?”

“No,” Bartemius shook his head as Bellatrix shot him a glare. “I can’t walk in that.”

Bellatrix grumbled before tossing out a lacy black bra and matching underwear. While Bartemius struggled with the bra she placed on the bed a tight black t-shirt and elegantly ripped black jeans. 

“You are turning me into an emo child,” Bartemius grumbled, but pulled the clothing on regardless. He couldn’t say no to Bellatrix. She grinned at him as she whipped out her wand. In a matter of seconds the mess of hair on his head was smoothed and pulled back into an elegant but small bun.

“You’re a hot emo child,” Bellatrix purred, sauntering towards the door. “I’ll see you at dinner. I’ve got a meeting with the Dark Lord.” 

“Good luck,” Bartemius called after her, wishing he could say more.

“Oh, Barty,” Bellatrix turned with a wicked grin on her face. “I’m so glad you’re back, and as a girl. Now we can be, as Draco would call it, gal pals.”

“Gal pals?” Bartemius shot her a questioning look, but Bellatrix simply gave a laugh much too hard and high pitched for the situation, and whisked out of the room. The door shut behind her and Bartemius was once again left alone.

**_Is this how you feel around George?_ **

No response came to him.

**_Around Lee?_ **

Just like that, Bartemius was fighting for his prison. It was like a flash of fire had gone through his nerves, and he was one again suppressed into the choking blackness of the subconscious. 

He struggled back to the surface, used to the process by now. He started with the eyes, watching as yellow sparks shot out of his fingertips and caught the carpet on fire. Slowly but steadily he regained control, putting out the flames as he did. A small scorch stain remained on the polished floor, but it was hardly noticeable in comparison to the stench of smoke. 

Bartemius used the stolen wand he was given to light a few scented candles that nestled on top of the small writing desk in the corner of the room before heading back out into the hall. 

The furniture and decor of this house reminded him an awful lot of the Black family house, or at least what Emile had permitted him to see of it. Black everywhere with plenty of silver and white accents and family portraits. The Malfoy family was old and proud, as the countless generations of wizard paintings showed. Bartemius’ personal favorite was one of young Lucius: the Death Eater had had a surprising amount of baby fat. 

“Bartemius.”

A shiver went up Bartemius’s spine as he heard the oddly quiet and smooth voice of Rudolphus from behind him. 

“Are you busy?” Rudolphus continued smoothly as Bartemius turned to face him.

“Depends on what you’re here to ask me to do,” Bartemius shot at him, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows.

“The Dark Lord has asked me to asses your dueling skill and magical ability,” Rudolphus continued, face remaining blank, though Bartemius would have sworn a flicker of annoyance showed in his dark eyes. 

“Believe me, Rudolph, this body has had plenty of practice,” Bartemius smirked flippantly, brandishing the want in his hand.

“Not with that wand it hasn’t,” Rudolphus shot back, a small smirk growing on his lips. “But if you’re so confident, then show me how it's done.”

“In the hallway?” Bartemius scoffed, frowning at Rudolphus. “Come now, have some decency. I know there’s more than one ball room here, so let's go.”

Bartemius followed Rudolphus through the manor, the silence between them thick as leather. He was doing his best to hide it, but he was incredibly nervous. His recently washed palms were slick with sweat, and the hair on the back of his neck was standing on end.

Though he couldn’t help but chuckle. He was acting as if this was his body, his domain. It wasn’t. He had to remember that. This was Emile’s body, and one way or another he’d have to leave. No doubt the Order of the Phoenix was searching for her again now that Harry Potter had run off.

“The ballroom,” Rudolphus announced, pushing open two large ornate doors to reveal a massive space. The curtains were drawn over the ten foot windows along the wall, and a large chandelier hung from the ceiling. With a flick of his wand Rudolphus lit the candles on the chandelier, as well as around the rest of the room, giving the small space a dim lighting.

“Brilliant,” Bartemius muttered, watching the light reflect off of Rudolphus’s face. He still wasn’t used to wearing glasses.

“Shall we begin?” Rudolphus purred, raising an eyebrow towards Bartemius.

“No need to call for seconds if this is simply a practice duel, right?” Bartemius asked somewhat nervously.

Rudolphus gave a small smirk. “Whatever will help you sleep at night.”

Bartemius sniffed and walked to the center of the room. Rudolphus followed, standing opposite of him. They both bowed, staring into each other’s eyes as they did so. The contempt in the Death Eater’s eyes glittered threateningly as they turned away from each other and took ten careful steps back.

**_I suppose it’s a bit unfair to call him a Death Eater when I’m not better._ **

Step five, step four.

**_I promise they will not tattoo the Dark Mark onto your arm._ **

As he took his final step Bartemius whipped around and cast a shielding charm, the yellow curse Rudolphus shot at him rebounding it into the curtains on the side of the hall and shattering the window behind them.

A breeze whipped the curtains up and blew wisps of Rudolphus’s hair around his face as the two stared each other, each unmoving and unwilling to make the next move.

With a sudden lunge forward, bright red sparks sprang towards Bartemius. He jumped out of the way, diving towards the floor and rolling so that he was crouched on the ground. More sparks were shooting towards him, filling Bartemius’s vision with an eerie light blue. He raised his arm to cast a shield, but he was a split second too late. Two of the three spells were blocked, but one collided with his leg, leaving a large red rash visible through the torn jeans. Glancing at it, he cursed internally.

Rudolphus watched through narrowed eyes as Bartemius jumped up with little resistance. “That stinging hex should have floored you.”

“Guess it just wasn’t good enough,” Bartemius sneered, flicking his wrist quickly. Rudolphus barely had enough time to jump out of the way as it crashed into the far wall, setting a portrait of a jeering blonde on fire.

Rudolphus let out a hiss and lunged towards Bartemius, and Bartemius let out a grin before lunging back at him. They both pointed their wands at each other seconds before colliding in the center of the room, and the world slowed down. The two spells collided, and a shock wave exploded from burst of light in the middle, throwing the two wizards back into the walls on their respective sides of the room. 

Bartemius sat up, eyes unfocused, as Rudolphus’s shrieking filled the air.

“What in the name of Merlin is going on?”

Bartemius shakily stood up as Narcissa Malfoy raced into the room, followed by Bellatrix.

“Cissy, they’re just dueling,” Bellatrix said in a bored voice.

“Trixie, your husband is on fire,” Narcissa exclaimed in an incredibly exasperated voice, pointing her wand towards Rudolphus. “Christ, Bartemius, what have you done to my window?”

“I started the fire, Rudolphus did the window,” Bartemius muttered, embarrassed. “I’m real sorry, Narcissa.”

“You ought to be,” Narcissa snapped, looking over Rudolphus and his burned body. “Bellatrix, take him and check over his leg.”

“It’s just a stinging hex,” Bartemius objected loudly as Bellatrix led him out into the hall.

“Oh, shut up,” Bellatrix groaned, pulling out her wand and slapping Bartemius on the leg. “We aren’t concerned about the hex. We’re concerned that you can’t feel it.”

“What?”

“You’re not in full control of your vessel yet,” Bellatrix explained, leading Bartemius into a large dungeon. “I can help you, if you let me.”

“I trust you,” Bartemius leaned forward eagerly.

“Then drink this,” Bellatrix pushed forward a vial of a glittering black liquid. “It’ll reduce the presence of the host of your vessel. As long as you remain in control, she’ll be completely subdued. There won’t be any interference.”

“What’s the catch?” Bartemius questioned doubtfully, poking at the vial of potion.

“Oh, it might affect the other soul in a negative way if she ever was to regain control,” Bellatrix shrugged. “But that’s unlikely to happen. I mean, you do want to be in charge right?”

“Of course,” Bartemius nodded aggressively. He’d be in charge if it meant he impressed Bellatrix.

“Then drink up,” Bellatrix purred, her dark eyes narrowing as the pushed the vial forward with one of her well manicured nails.

Bartemius grabbed the vial and chugged it down, relishing in the taste of licorice that stayed in his mouth. For a split second everything was normal. Then, a searing pain went up the side of his leg, and he fell over, gasping for breath.

“I hate you,” he hissed at Bellatrix through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I know,” she smirked down at him, waltzing out of the room.

* * *

 


	81. Potterwatch

* * *

 

"Potterwatch?" Lee Jordan stared at Kingsley Shacklebolt, his brows creased. "You do know I've got more important things to worry about than running a radio show."

"Not just any radio show," Kingsley argued. "This show will be where the public can be updated on the situation of the DA. You'd be first to receive any information on anything Death Eater and You-Know-Who related."

Lee looked from the auror to his best friends. Fred looked incredibly optimistic at the prospect of helping in some way, while George was staring at Lee with a pleading look in his eyes.

"I don't know..." Lee turned away from the three of them. "I don't want to waste time on this when we could be looking for-" 

Lee's voice caught in his throat. Just thinking about her hurt. Possessed by the spirit of that, that monster. That night at the wedding, she had been there. No, Bartemius had been there. Emile didn’t have harsh, brown eyes. Emile knew how to take care of her hair. Emile wouldn’t attack the Weasley family.

"Lee," George spoke for the first time, putting his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Lee, we're all worried about her, no one more than me, and if we do this we'd be first to get any information on her whereabouts."

Lee didn't hear the second half of George's sentence. "No one more than you?" 

"Lee," Kingsley took a step toward him, but was held back by Fred. 

"They need to talk it out if we want this to work," he whispered to the Auror. 

"You were supposed to protect her, you promised me she'd be safe with you. I knew you two would keep her safe, and that’s the only reason I let her go with you to Hogwarts!"

George stared at his friend, frozen in fear. He'd never seen Lee this upset.

"Lee, I-" 

"You had the chance to do something when he showed up at the wedding, but no! You didn't do anything!" 

“Neither did you!” George snapped back, ear turning red.

“She was probably there the night you all went to rescue Harry, but even if she had been would you have even tried to get her back?”

Fred smirked from next to Kingsley. "In his defense mate he did lose an ear."

"Now is not the time, Fred." Lee seethed, his face turning red as he turned back to George. "At the wedding, you went off with a french girl of all things, like you'd forgotten about her already. How could you forget about her? Did she ever mean anything to you?"

"Of course she did!" George finally found his voice.

"Well you had a lousy way of showing it!" Lee roared back, digging through his backpack to pull out a faded mokeskin pouch and a battered wand. "She gave this to me before she left, did you know that? She said "If I die, then you get this to Ollivander. If I die, make sure I get a glass headstone. And if I die, give George, Fred, and Angelina my love."" 

There was a paused as Lee held up the wand. “Do you know what this is? Do you?”

George stared at his friend as Fred shook his head. Kingsley, however, leaned forward and squinted his eyes. 

“That’s a hazel wand.”

“Not just any regular hazel wand,” Lee spat at the auror. “She gave it to me. She said it would be a way to tell if she was still alive. I couldn’t figure out how that would work until she got captured, then I started doing some reading into the subject. Hazel wands with unicorn hair are prone to wand death once their owner dies. She made sure that she would be the rightful owner of this wand by adding her own hair to the core.”

George continued staring at his friend. 

Lee’s hand was shaking as he looked at the wand. “I feel it, so I know she’s safe. It’s warm to the touch. Sometimes it grows incredibly hot. Just last week it started shooting yellow sparks.”

“How can you tell she’s still alive by using a wand?” Fred asked doubtfully.

George took a timid step closer to Lee. “Can I hold it?”

Lee glared at George a moment before hesitantly handing over the hazel wand. George tightened his hand around the wood, feeling the magic coursing through the wand. It felt familiar, comforting. Maybe Lee’s hunch was correct.

“Your Emile is a clever gal,” Kingsley’s deep voice rumbled throughout the tent as they all stared at the wand.

George stroked the wood with his fingers, unable to look up from the wand.“She kissed you, didn’t she?”

Lee couldn’t look George in the eye as he gave a miniscule, painful nod.

"She isn't dead yet," George managed to croak out. 

"She might as well be," Lee choked miserably, sliding down to the floor.

"Don't say that," George whispered. "I won't believe it. There's got to be some way to bring her back."

"Can you do it?" Lee looked George in the eyes for the first time, seeing his own pain reflected in their depths. "Can you bring her back?"

"I can try," George vowed, kneeling beside his friend and placing the wand in his lap. "Will you try too? I'm not doing this alone, Lee. Not this time."

Lee took a deep breath, staring at the wand and pouch in his hands before looking up at Kingsley Shacklebolt. 

"I'm in."

"Yes!" Fred pumped his fist in the air. "Potterwatch is on!" 

"Who's idea was this?" Lee asked Kingsley as the twins packed his tent.

"Fred's," Kingsley's eyes betrayed a flicker of amusement. "He thought it was the best way to help you two reconcile." 

Lee snorted. "Well, he wasn't wrong." Lee turned to Fred. "So, where are we going to be airing from?"

Fred gave a wicked grin. "A place you’ve only heard about in stories." 

The four of them disapparated under the cover of darkness, appearing again next to a tall cedar tree next to a frozen river.

"Her treehouse," Lee whispered to himself. 

"She had a name you know," Fred said with an eye roll. "Em would punch you if she heard you referring to her as "she" and "her"."

"Em," Lee said quietly as Kingsley summoned the rope ladder to drop down for them. "Emile Victoria Gorska."

Her scent clung to the inside of the treehouse, the scent of apple spice and old leather and honey nurtured mead. A large pile of blankets and pillows sat neatly folded under one window, and one set of shelves was stocked with carefully organized wand woods and cores.

"It's so, Emile," Fred grinned at George and received a small smile back. 

Lee became distracted by noise coming from the roof of the treehouse.

"Can you hear that?" Lee whispered to Kingsley, drawing his wand.

"Hear what?" Fred asked loudly as the rest of the group shushed him angrily. Warily scanning the rafters, Lee made his way towards George, who was staring at a picture of himself and Emile at the Yule ball. As he leaned out to touch it, an angry screech filled the treehouse, and a shadow darted from the rafters.

"What is it?!" Fred yelled, giving a cry a moment later as the creature sliced his hand open.

"Kingsley!" Lee shrieked as large golden eyes locked with his. 

"Immobulus!" 

The Auror moved forward, plucking a bedraggled owl off of the floor before releasing the three boys.

"Achilles!" George cried as soon as he was free, and used his own wand to release the owl from its magical bindings. 

"This is Emile's owl," George smiled at Kingsley as the Boreal clambered onto his shoulder and gave George's hair an affectionate tug.

"Why would she name her owl Achilles?" Kingsley gave the bird a wary look. 

"I've been asking myself that for over a year," Fred chortled as Achilles greeted Fred with a nip on the ear. "Ow!"

"I met him several times," Lee smiled as the owl blinked at him before landing on his shoulder, giving a low hoot.

"Alright then, " Kingsley smiled and began pulling microphones out of his bag. "Let's get started."

Throughout the next few weeks Potterwatch began to gain popularity, until Kingsley announced a total of five hundred daily listeners minimum. Though the treehouse was the ideal location for running a taboo radio show, they only used it every other week. Kingsley soon learned that leaving Lee and the twins alone ended with interesting programs.

"So here on Potterwatch we managed to get an exclusive interview with the Dark Lord himself!"

Lee turned towards Fred as he handed George the balloon back.

"Voldy, I gotta say, it's a great honour."

"Thank you, Lee," Fred responded in an unusually high pitched voice before taking in another gulp of helium. "And for the record, I would like to add that I am a massive butthead."

"There you have it folks! Remember that you heard it here first that the Dark Lord is, in fact, a massive butthead."

Lee and Kingsley reported daily deaths, kidnappings, and disappearances. They got interviews with Mrs. Weasley about how to best prepare your household for an attack and with Mr. Weasley about being considerate towards your innocent muggle neighbors. Tonks's mother came in and talked about the importance of getting any known muggle or squib family members to safety. A goblin from Gringotts who had been fired was discussing the situation of the banks until he rudely ran off after Fred's snoring interrupted him. Kingsley had had to erase the creature's memory as best he could. 

The most interesting piece they did was on the situation inside Hogwarts. An group of anonymous writers had sent a three page letter describing, in detail, the tyranny under Snape and the Death Eaters rule.

"Our writers write that care packages of food and medical supplies would be much appreciated, and anyone who intends on staying home after Christmas break should be prepared for Death Eater confrontation."

Lee stared at Fred and George as their faces grew pale. Ginny was in there. He felt his hand tighten around the hazel wand in his pocket, taking comfort in the fact that the magic was still there, still warm beneath his roughened hand.

"That's all we have for this Potterwatch, folks. Tune in soon for more updates and information. The next password will be "Manor".

* * *

 


	82. The Umbridge Administration

* * *

 

At Malfoy Manor, Bartemius lounged in his chair, swinging his legs back and forth as he looked around the congregation of Death Eaters gathered in the Malfoy’s dining hall. The Dark Lord was stressed; the school year had started and there hadn’t been any sightings of Harry Potter. He had gathered everyone together to explain his master plan. 

The Dark Lord himself was sitting at the head of the long table in Malfoy Manor. Rudolphus Lestrange was on his left, face still significantly scarred from their dueling incident, with Bellatrix next to him. Bartemius was sitting across from Bellatrix, an empty seat between him and the Dark Lord, and the Carrow twins on his right. Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco were all sitting at the other end of the table, and a variety of Death Eaters were filling the empty seats in between. Noticeably, Fenrir Greyback was lounging next to Draco Malfoy, crooked teeth flashing yellow as his deep, hollow laugh echoed throughout the room. 

“Have we all gathered?” the Dark Lords quiet and intimidating voice echoed throughout the room.

“Almost, my dark king,” Lucius said with a small bow. “We’re only waiting on-”

“My Lord.”

Bartemius bristled at the sound of a familiar nasally voice. Some would think he had incredible respect for Severus Snape, after the ex-Order of the Phoenix member helped him claim his body, but that was exactly the problem. He didn’t appreciate how the ex potions professor had lied, cheated, and not to mention tortured his vessel to get to where it was now. It had hurt Emile deeply, and in turn hurt Bartemius.

Severus Snape swept into the room and bowed deeply, earning a satisfied nod from Lord Voldemort. 

“Severus, so glad you could make it,” he wheezed in his eerie voice. Not that Bartemius was one to complain about eerie voices.

“I do hope you forgive my tardiness, my Lord,” Snape spoke slowly, eye scanning the room as he stood up and walked towards his seat by Bartemius. 

“Suckup,” Bartemius grumbled as the dark man passed. His greasy hair swished as he turned to glare at Bartemius.

“Do sit upright, Barty,” Severus drawled as he sat down in his chair.

“Make me,” sniffed Bartemius, sinking lower into his chair. A split second later an electric shock ran up his back, causing his hair to stand on end. There was Rudolphus, timely as ever with his reminder for Bartemius to behave.

He grudgingly sat up straight.

“My dear friends,” Lord Voldemort began, standing up and folding his hands in front of him. “It has been a while since all of us have been able to gather in one spot, but I trust that absences and tardies will no longer be an issue. I have come up with a plan of action that will lead to the capture of Harry Potter and his gang of miscreants.”

With a wave of his wand, the Dark Lord conjured a projected aerial view of a majestic castle, gleaming in the candlelight. “Our first order of business, is what we will be doing with Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Severus.”

Severus Snape stood up when his name was called.

“You have been appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts,” Voldemort continued, acknowledging Severus with no more than a glance to the side. “Seeing that you have been teaching there for quite some time it shouldn’t be a problem for you to keep the children and castle locked down.”

“My Lord,” Severus bowed. “I was truly honored to accept this position, but what are we to do about the Hogwarts staff? They take any chance they can to remind the children of Harry Potter and Dumbledore.”

“Ah, yes. Your fellow schoolteachers and known members of the Order of the Phoenix,” Voldemort purred softly, red eyes narrowing. “I do believe some may become useful to us. However, you are slightly understaffed, as I understand it. Alecto and Amycus Carrow will accompany you to fill the remaining positions, and to keep the staff and students in check. If you give them space to do what they’re best at, then I don’t think your… problem… with the staff will continue for much longer.”

Alecto rose when her name was called, and bowed deeply and gracefully, while her brother jumped up and gave more of a hasty bob of his head. Bartemius couldn’t help but smirk at their performance as the Death Eaters gathered began politely clapping for the trio of wizards.

“Now,” Lord Voldemort continued after a brief pause, in which the projection of Hogwarts was replaced by one of the interior of the Ministry of Magic. “Moving onto Harry Potter.”

Every Death Eaters attention peaked, and they turned to Lord Voldemort with a new interest.

“I have several different ways we will be tracking him down,” The Dark Lord continued, seemingly oblivious to his followers new fascination with his words. “Fenrir Greyback, do I have the support of the werewolves?”

“Without a doubt, my Lord,” the werewolf barked in a husky voice.

“Good, good,” Lord Voldemort nodded. “I want you to have groups of wolves hunting down any magical creature who escapes justice. You will, of course, be rewarded for your efforts, depending on the value and status of the traitors you bring in.”

“Of course, my Lord,” Fenrir bowed his head. “Your praise is payment enough.”

Bartemius snorted as another round of polite clapping echoed throughout the room, this one more hasty as Fenrir bared his teeth at anyone not clapping to his pleasure.

“Now may I introduce a witch who has impressed me in many ways since our takeover of the Ministry,” Lord Voldemort flicked his wrist towards the entrance to the dining room. The thick double doors swung open to reveal the silhouette of a squat, toad like figure whose clothes radiated an unhealthy amount of pink light that in no way matched the aura she projected.

“Umbridge,” Bartemius and Severus whispered in unison, Their voices a matching tone of dread. The two glared at each other a moment later.

The Dark Lord stepped back to reveal the newcomer to the people further down the table. “May I introduce, Miss Dolores Umbridge.”

Bartemius’s eyes drifted down the table to where Draco Malfoy sat, stiff and upright. His pale face was now white as a sheet as Dolores surveyed the people before her.

“What an unusual crowd,” she cooed in her sickly sweet voice, adjusting the glasses on the edge of her nose. “My Lord, I do believe I recognize some of these children from my time at Hogwarts.”

Bartemius rolled his eyes as the Dark Lord gave an understanding nod. “We will have someone catch you up, Dolores. For now, please take a seat beside Bellatrix.”

Bellatrix grimaced slightly but didn’t object as the neon pink blob sat down next to her, eyes glistening with frustration.

“Dolores has graciously volunteered to organize our population, intervening with the hideous half-blood breeding between our kind and those filthy muggles. Anyone claiming to be a witch or wizard will be subjected to an investigation and trial, to prove their worth to my wizarding community. Dolores will also be taking charge of the printing press and the Daily Prophet, issuing articles and wanted posters addressing our rise to power and the general public's previous acclaimed heroes. She will reveal their true nature, and these idiots don’t know better than to believe the press.”

A much more impressive applause rang out as Dolores smiled coyly up at the Dark Lord. Bartemius had seen that smile before; it was a false smile. It hid dark secrets and false promises. The one promise it kept was that there was something dark coming for you, and Umbridge would be behind it.

Or maybe that was just Bartemius’s biased impression of her.

Except Snape was looking at Umbridge with the same amount of suspicion and scorn Bartemius was attempting to project. 

“I have assigned Augustus Rookwood to the Ministry along with Umbridge,” Lord Voldemort continued smoothly. Either he was unaware or he was trying to ignore the tension in the room around him. “He has a list of those of you he wants there with him. Those of you who aren’t chosen are in charge of tracking and locating escaped aurors and ministry members. Are there any questions?” 

No one asked any questions because no one dared question Lord Voldemort. Bartemius had been here long enough to know that in an hour or so Rudolphus and Snape would hold a mini meeting in the parlor to explain in further detail what everyone was supposed to do. Not that the Dark Lord didn’t explain it perfectly; everyone else was just too incompetent to understand.

“It’s simple enough,” Bellatrix was sneering at a group of scared looking young women. “If you were assigned to Hogwarts you report to Snape. If you were assigned to the Ministry you report to Rookwood, who in turn reports to Umbridge. The top dogs report to the Dark Lord.”

“How?”

Silence spread throughout the congregation as everyone turned to glare at Bartemius.

“What was that?” Bellatrix chirped, tipping her head to the side.

“I mean, how will the Dark Lord get all of these reports?” Bartemius asked, crossing his arms. “He can’t be everywhere at once, and the Dark Mark is just used to summon us. You can’t trust owl or Patronus messages since both can be intercepted. So how will he communicate?”

Bellatrix stared at Bartemius with her mouth open. For once he had managed to stump her. 

“Bellatrix, Barty.”

The two of them turned to Rudolphus as he entered the room.

“The Dark Lord wants to see us,” Rudolphus stated, beckoning to his wife and mutual. 

Bellatrix and Bartemius exchange a look, delighted on Bellatrix’s end but confused on Bartemius’s. They left the confused group of Death Eaters and followed Rudolphus back into the meeting room. Only Dolores, Rookwood, and Snape were left, watching as the Dark Lord puzzled over the projection over the table. It had changed to one of Gringotts, complete with tiny walking goblins.

“Ah, Bellatrix,” The Dark Lord greeted his servant with a light hand rest on the shoulder. “Oh, and Bartemius.”

“My pleasure, my Lord,” Bartemius purred, sliding his hand along the table. “What’s the meaning behind your summons?”

“The five of you,” the Dark Lord paused and allowed his red glare to flicker around the group in front of him, “have shown exceptional resilience and dedication to our cause. This is your reward. I am making you a part of our inner circle.”

“Oh, my Lord, thank you. Thank you!” Bellatrix’s grin was unearthly large as she began to cry tears of joy, wild black hair bouncing.

“Peace, Bellatrix,” Voldemort spoke in a voice so quiet but commanding that it sucked all momentary joy from her dark eyes.

“What I require from you is not a very large task,” Voldemort continued, indifferent to the anxiety he was inducing upon Bellatrix, “but it is incredibly important.”

“We are prepared to serve, my Lord,” Rudolphus spoke this time, placing a forceful hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“Severus,” Lord Voldemort beckoned the teacher forward. 

Severus Snape stepped closer to Bartemius and pulled something out from under his cloak. It was wrapped in a black cloth that made it impossible to identify the object, but it was bundled up tight. 

Snape handed the bundle to Bellatrix Lestrange, who slowly unwrapped the cloth. Inside was a large ornate bronze chalice, with the Hufflepuff crest embedded on one side. Bellatrix lifted it slowly by the two small handles on the side, and a silence swept across the room as everyone stared at the relic before them.

“The chalice of Helga Hufflepuff,” Rudolphus said quietly. “My Lord, how?”

“That is… unimportant,” Lord Voldemort dismissed Rudolphus with a glare. His voice was much quieter now, in the presence of something so pure. It had belonged to the kindest founder; a relic as good as this had no place amongst the hands of Death Eaters.

“Bellatrix,” the Dark Lord continued, “I need you to take this to your vault in Gringotts, and guard it with your life. It is of the utmost importance that this remains safe and undamaged.”

“You can count on us, my Lord,” Bellatrix whispered fervently, wrapping the relic back up in the cloth. 

Dolores Umbridge let out one of her iconic hem hem’s from behind Lord Voldemort.

“My Lord,” she began in a sickly sweet voice, “may I ask what value a relic from the weakest of Hogwarts founders holds that guarantees such protection?”

“You may not,” Lord Voldemort glared at Umbridge before turning to Bartemius. “I overheard what you said when Bellatrix was explaining our plan of action to those incompetent slugs. Do you truly believe I hadn’t thought of that already?”

“No, my Lord,” Bartemius began hesitantly. “I was just—”

“Bartemius,” the Dark Lord interrupted, red eyes boring into his own. “We cannot trust this group of scum. Only Rookwood, Umbridge, the Lestranges, and myself will be aware of your purpose here.”

“My Lord, I’m afraid I do not understand.”

The Dark Lord rose and began pacing the length of the room in long, slow steps. “You are, of course, correct when you say there is no safe method to deliver messages both of little and high importance. Owls and patronuses can, of course, be intercepted. We can communicate through fireplaces, but then there is a chance of someone listening in, as Dolores would very well know.”

The squat woman's eyes flashed indignantly, but she didn’t dare open her mouth to object to Lord Voldemort's taunt. 

“Bartemius, you are going to be our message carrier,” Lord Voldemort said without a trace of emotion on his face. “I will give you a message, and you will carry it on to whomever it is intended for. But, you are forbidden to speak it. We will be making an unbreakable vow  momentarily to ensure this.”

“But then how-”

“Everyone will be equipped with a pensieve. You will show them through memories what my message is, and then you will return with an answer.”

Bartemius nodded slowly, looking at the Dark Lord. He was a genius.

So throughout the next several weeks Bartemius flew from location to location, sometimes taking his broom, sometimes apparating. Twice he flew by thestral, mainly to prove to a smug Bellatrix that he could when the two of them went to deliver the chalice to her vault. Numerous spells were cast on her treasure to ensure its safety, and extra security measures were placed outside the vault. 

“This treatment of dragons is inhumane,” Bartemius grumbled to a stubby little goblin as they clanked their way away from the vault.

“Your treatment of your host body is inhumane,” the goblin retorted over the clanking, beady eyes narrowing at Bartemius. 

The goblin disappeared shortly after, and Bartemius helped spread the rumor that it was on the run.

Rudolphus and Bartemius had daily magic duels, Bartemius having to prove to Rudolphus that he was unafraid to cast unforgivable curses on muggle prisoners brought before him. Once Bartemius successfully managed to do the Avada Kedavra, killing a rat in the cellar of Malfoy Manor. 

Bartemius spent a lot of his time outside of the Manor delivering messages to Umbridge and Rookwood at the Ministry. The so called ‘Umbridge Administration’ was doing well with documenting muggle’s and half bloods. In fact, it was doing so well that even pure blooded wizards were being scared into submission by the tickled pink toad.

“Barty!” Rookwood chirped as Bartemius returned to his office for the fourth day in a row.

“Don’t call me Barty,” Bartemius grumbled, head pounding. He had a wicked hangover and wasn’t in the mood for any banter.

“I’ll call you what damn well pleases me,” Rookwood smirked and turned around, away from Bartemius’s ignited wand. Bartemius rose up to strike the Death Eater, but was interrupted by a sinister  _ hem hem _ .

Dolores Umbridge was standing in the doorway to Rookwood’s office, a false smile plastered onto her face. 

“Why, Em- I mean… Bartemius…” 

Bartemius stuck his wand in his pocket and exchanged a glance with Rookwood as Umbridge took a few steps closer to the pair, running her fat hand along the edge of Rookwood's wooden desk.

“What do you need, Dolores?” Rookwood drawled, sitting down in his chair and propping his feet up on his desk. Mud splattered over the polished surface, and Umbridge drew her hand away in disgust.

“Why,” she began, glaring down at Rookwood with the false smile plastered onto her face, “was Bartemius not brought immediately to me upon his arrival?”

“Why would I be?” Bartemius drawled, crossing his arms and further infuriating the pink mess.

“Why, because, of course, our Dark Lord enjoys keeping in touch with me, one of his most trusted advisors, and head of the Ministry Purifying Administration,” Umbridge chirped sweetly, her glaring eyes fixated on Bartemius.

“Pardon me,” Bartemius began, scratching behind his ear.

“You are pardoned,” Umbridge snapped, straightening up her tiny, non-threatening figure. “Let’s be off to my office, then, shall we?”

“We shall not, Madame Umbridge,” Bartemius smirked, turning from Umbridge to Rookwood. “I’m afraid today’s message is for Rookwood, and Rookwood only.”

Umbridge’s reaction was one Bartemius would treasure for the rest of his meager existence. The false smile dropped, revealing a vulnerable confusion, then twisted into sorrow, then anger, then denial. It was like watching someone cycle through the stages of grief in a matter of seconds.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” Umbridge managed to splutter out, face growing very red. “I am in charge of the Ministry Operations, and therefore ought to be included in all messages from our Dark Lord—”

“See, Umbridge,” Rookwood smirked haughtily, “that’s your opinion.”

Umbridge’s face was so red it started turning purple. She whipped out her wand and aimed it at Rookwood, sparks flying from the end.

Before she could do any damage, Bartemius’s own wand was in his hand. With one flick he deflected the spell shot at Rookwood, and with another disarmed a seething Umbridge.

“I DEMAND to be included!” Umbridge screamed as Bartemius and Rookwood used their wands to immobilize her. “I am in charge of the Ministry! The Dark Lord is dumber than Dumbledore if he doesn’t utilize me and what I have to offer!”

“The Dark Lord keeps your whiny ass out of Azkaban, Dolores, so I suggest you bite your tongue!” Bartemius roared back, standing over the scared ex-headmistress. 

Rookwood and Umbridge both whipped their heads around towards Bartemius as a high pitched, girly giggle escaped his lips, and he covered his mouth with his hands. That wasn’t his laugh, that wasn’t a laugh he should be making. But, this was impossible. She was repressed, Bellatrix had promised…

Bartemius shot a desperate look towards Rookwood, who gave a nod of understanding.

“Leave, Umbridge,” Rookwood growled, shoving the toad towards the door. “And mind you remember your place. We can’t all be heads of the Umbridge Administration.”

* * *

 


	83. Hogwarts

* * *

 

Angelina’s screech was still ringing in George’s ears as she burst into the Burrow, tears of joy streaming down her face. Fred immediately grabbed her waist, lifted her up, and spun her around in happy circles, laughing.

“Oh, get a room, you two,” Nat grumbled, following the remaining girl in the group inside. “Wotcher, George.”

“How’ve you been, Nat?” George grinned, shaking his friend’s hand and trying to ignore the twinging pangs of jealousy that clawed at his stomach as he listened to the whispers and giggles from the couple behind him.

“You’re looking at one of the youngest healers to ever come out of St. Mungos,” Nat bragged and puffed out his chest. “At least, I was until, you know, he-who-must-not-be-named and all that.”

“And all that,” George agreed with a taunt smile. “Well, for what it’s worth, I’m happy for you.”

“Oh, bless you, Georgie,” Nat gushed, flicking a strand of hair out of George’s eyes with a wink. “But you don’t need to fake with me. I can see that you’re dying inside.”

“I try not to draw too much attention to it,” George grumbled, turning to his brother, “Are you two done?”

“Now, now, brother,” Fred turned to George with twinkling eyes. “No need to get all jealous.”

“Oh, Fred. Don’t be cruel,” Angelina teased as she ran up to George and Nat, enveloping them in a large hug. “I missed you all so much!”

“You’ve got to tell us everything about your travels,” Nat insisted as he pushed away from the hug. “How’s France? Italy? Bulgaria?”

“Beautiful, delicious, and cold,” Angelina sighed dreamily, stepping back into Fred’s waiting arms. “Man, I wish I could go back.”

“We have cold here,” George stated dryly with a glance out the window into the pouring rain. 

“We’ve got Molly Weasley’s delicious cooking,” Nat added with an eager rub of his hands.

“And you’re all the beautiful we need,” Fred cooed, drawing his girlfriend in for a kiss over the shouted objections and complaints from Nat and George.

“Did I walk in on an orgy? What the devil is this?”

George and Nat turned towards the door, backs to the happy couple, to find Lee Jordan standing in the doorway.

“Lee!” Nat grinned, giving the familiar presence a thump on the shoulder. “Long time no see, bud.”

“Nat the gnat, look at you,” Lee purred, eyes glittering mischievously. “Aren’t you some sort of big-shot healer now?”

“Not big enough,” Nat shook his head disappointedly. “I hope one day to get my own ward, but for now I’m staying here. It’s not safe at St. Mungo’s. Imagine what the Ministry would do to me if they found out I was friends with—”

Nat broke off as both George and Lee narrowed their eyes into fierce glares, and the two of them took a miniscule, threatening step towards Nat.

“Guys, I-I’m sorry,” Nat stuttered hurriedly as he back into Fred and Angelina.

“Oi!” Fred yelped as Nat tripped over his heel, falling backwards and quickly grabbing the couple, who fell on top of him with a shout.

“It is an orgy,” Lee chortled, crossing his arm with a smirk down at the laughing heap before him. 

“Not yet,” Angelina smirked with a dangerous look in her eye. Grabbing hold of one of George’s crossed arms, she dragged him down on top of his brother. 

George’s impact on top of the pile caused an audible rush of air to wheeze out of Nat’s mouth as he writhed underneath the people on top of him.

“I wonder just how identical the two of you are,” Angelina purred saucily, running one of her hands up George’s leg with sultry, narrowed eyes. 

Fred saved George from answering with an indignant shout, pushing his brother away from his girlfriend. “I’ve told you that I’m the handsomer one here, and I don’t appreciate these advances on my heartbroken brother.”

“He isn’t the only one who lost Emile,” Angelina breathed, grudgingly allowing Fred to help her up.

Lee helped Nat up while George stood up on his own, face flushed. His reactions to Angelina’s advances were highly inappropriate, and George hastily adjusted the waist of his pants as incognito as he could.

“So, mate, what are we doing today?” Nat questioned Fred before the group silence could drag on.

“No clue,” Fred shrugged, glancing around the group. “Maybe go to dinner?”

“You planned this reunion and didn’t think ahead to what activities we’d be doing?” Angelina gawked at Fred, arms crossed.

“I thought George would come up with something,” Fred muttered, crossing his arms and pouting at his girlfriend.

“Oi, you did not communicate this with me,” George lectured, putting his hands on his hips.

“My bad,” Fred sighed, slouching down on the sofa. “But it’s not like we could do much, is it?”

“How’s Ginny?” Nat turned to George, eyebrows furrowed. “I’m really worried about Adelaide. It sounds like Snape and those Carrows really dictate the school.”

“Ginny’s fine. She never went back after spring break. She’s incredibly anxious about her friend back at school, particularly Neville Longbottom…” George’s mind wandered, and he turned to Fred with a grin. “You thinking what I’m thinking, Fred?”

“Oh, most definitely, George,” Fred rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

“No,” Lee objected, grabbing hold of Fred’s arm. “It’s too dangerous, are you insane?”

“Not officially,” Fred chortled, yanking his arm from Lee’s grasp.

“What are they thinking?” Angelina stage whispered to Lee, Nat glancing around the circle with a thoroughly perplexed expression on his face. 

“They want to sneak into Hogwarts,” Lee sighed, putting his face in his hands.

“You’re idiots,” Angelina gasped, her face turning red.

“But Angie, it’s brilliant,” Fred crooned, pushing the group upstairs.

“We still have our robes,” George began with a glance at Fred.

“And they more or less fit,” Fred chuckled giddily.

“We have polyjuice potion leftover from Alastor-”

“And hairs from everyone in the village down the hill.”

“Wait, what?” Nat grimaced and stumbled over his feet as Fred pushed past him and into his bedroom.

“It’s ingenious,” Fred crooned.

“It’s a suicide mission,” Lee huffed, glaring at the two of them.

“You don’t have to come,” Fred snapped at their old friend.

“You two aren’t going in there alone,” Lee hissed back, looking from Angelina to Nat. “Too many of us could attract attention, perhaps you two oaught to guard the secret passageway while we sneak in.”

“We never agreed to this,” Nat hissed as Fred tossed George his old school uniform from their old trunks.

“You never really had a choice,” George chuckled as he took off his suit, causing Lee to turn bright red and avert his eyes towards the ceiling.

“Do you mind,” asked Fred from where he was pulling his old school uniform on over his legs.

“Not at all,” Both Nat and Angelina responded with identical grins as they watched the ginger change, Nats gaze straying over to George.

“Ok, but what makes you think the passageways aren’t guarded?” Lee questioned from where he was facing the wall. “Bartemius knew about them, he would have tol—”

“Bartemius wouldn’t have known where they were,” George snapped, his temper flaring. “Em had him contained.”

“But she doesn’t anymore,” Angelina said quietly, leaning against the door. “And we all know that Bartemius had access to her memories. It’s quite possible all the entrances are blocked or guarded.” 

“You’re against us too?” Fred whined, making puppy dog eyes at his girlfriend.

“I’m against you taking unnecessary risks,” Angelina explained calmly, staring back at her boyfriend. “But know that if you go, then I’m going too.”

“Well, that was the plan,” Fred smirked, turning to his girlfriend as he pulled on his school robe. “I need you there.”

Angelina let out a small giggle as Lee and Nat retched in disgust. Fred smiled down adoringly at her as she stepped forward and adjusted his tie.

“Where did you get a Ravenclaw tie?” she asked curiously as she tucked it under his vest.

George scoffed and flashed his own blue tie. “Please, like we don’t have ties from each of the houses for cases such as these.”

“Remember,” Nat warned as they headed back towards the door, “we’re going to make sure Neville and Adelaide are alright. Then, we go.”

George frowned but said nothing as he followed Fred across the room to their shared trunk. Inside, concealed in a compartment in the lid, were several vials of potions left to them by Alastor Moody. The majority of the vials contained polyjuice potion, but there were several vials of Confusing Concoction, Veritaserum, and Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion.

“Here we are,” Fred grinned as he lifted two vials of of what appeared to be mud into the air, swirling its contents. “George, grab the hairs.”

“Hang on,” Lee leaned forward, grabbing George’s arm. “I want to go in with you guys.”

“Lee, mate,” Fred leaned forward and extracted George from his brothers grip. “We want to find her too, but—”

“This has nothing to do with Em,” Lee objected, crossing his arms.

Fred and George shared a knowing glance with Nat and Angelina before looking back at Lee.

“Ok, It kind of has to do with Em,” Lee grumbled, looking down at the ground. “I just, I couldn’t be able to bear it if the two people we cared most about had gotten hurt on my watch. I know she’d blame me if she were here.”

“Awww,” Angelina cooed, throwing her arms around Lee. “Jordan, you do have a heart.”

“I complimented you from the skies for your whole flying career, and you realize this now?” Lee rolled his eyes and grinned, shrugging off Angelina’s hug. “Come on, Fred, mate.”

“Mate,” Fred grinned back. “I may have the perfect disguise for you.”

Two hours or so later, the four of them were creeping down the passageway leading to the one eyed witch. Nat had chickened out, and had stayed behind in honeydukes cellar to ‘cover them’. Angelina was creeping along beside them, her poofy hair concealed by a hooded black cloak. Fred and George had transformed into two sixteen year old boys from the village; George had shaggy black hair, and Fred with slick brown hair and glasses. Both of them had gained muscle mass, but George couldn’t tell by the way their backs were hunched over.

“You look terrifying,” Angelina was gushing to Lee. His poofy hair hadn grown out about twice its size, as had a noticeable mustache and goatee. One of his eyes was milky blue, and was marred by a giant scar. He was dressed in all black, and have a bandana tied around his upper arm.

“I can’t tell if you look like a Death Eater, or a biker,” George grinned, causing Angelina to giggle. Even Lee managed to crack a smile, but as soon as his eyes met George’s, it disappeared.

“You need to stay in the shadows,” Fred whispered to Angelina for the hundredth time.

“Fred if you don’t stop telling me that I’m going to break up with you,” Angelina sighed, tossing her hood back to cast her boyfriend a threatening look.

“No, please!” Fred yelped and grabbed a hold of her arm.

“Get off, you,” She smirked and tugged her arm free, watching Fred with warm eyes. “Stop worrying so much.”

Fred only grumbled as they came to the end of the tunnel. The familiar back of the statue of the one eyed witch was above them.

George pulled out his wand and tapped the statue once. It slowly began to slide back, and natural light began to pour into the tunnel. Lee extinguished his wand with a flick of his wrist, and was the first to climb up into their old school. 

“All clear,” His voice echoed down into the tunnel, and the three below nodded to each other once before climbing up and out.

Lee was standing with his back to them, looking around with a forlorn expression on his face. 

“It’s all, so… different,” Angelina whispered as if scared to break the silence.

“It’s so… cold,” Lee echoed, staring at the dusty hall around them.

“Stay focused,” Fred spoke up, but his cracking voice revealed just how much the new Hogwarts affected him. “We’ll split up. I’ll go with Angelina to check the kitchens and Hufflepuff hallway. Lee, check the Gryffindor hall and trophy room. George, the Great Hall and Ravenclaw commons. Meet back here in a half-hour.”

“Roger that,” George gave a half hearted grin, saluting Fred before turning and dashing down the hallway, Lee hot on his tail. They ran in uncomfortable silence until they reached the main stairwell, then split up and went their separate ways.

George couldn’t help but frown at his new surroundings. Hogwarts had changed remarkably since they had last been there. Slytherin colors decorated most of the school, and the large hourglasses displaying house points were rusty and faded. Dust swirled lazily through the weak light that poured down from tarnished chandeliers, and cobwebs lazily waved down in greeting as George dashed past them, sliding into the Great Hall.

The five long tables were abandoned. The house banners were gone. There were no students working together on homework.

George stood in the hall for a moment, silent. Above him, the enchanted sky swirled ominously with storm clouds. They were darker on one side, indicating the oncoming night.

“What are you doing here?”

George whipped around, hand over his wand. Alecto Carrow was glaring at him, eyes narrowed.

“W-what?” George stuttered, staring up at her in fright.

“All students were required to return to their common rooms three minutes ago,” Alecto hissed, her eyes narrowing. “We have a delegate of the Dark Lord visiting, and sh… he doesn’t take kindly to disobedient students.”

“My apologies, Professor Carrow,” George bowed, his face flushing. He had to get out of this somehow. “I’ll head up to the common room immediately.”

“See that you do,” Alecto frowned, watching him leave the Great Hall and go up the main stairs. 

George shivered as he headed up the familiar twisting hallways to the Ravenclaw room, processing what Alecto had said. Delegate? It wouldn’t be Bartemius, as much as he hoped it would be. They wouldn’t trust him, especially since he had Emile’s body. 

A half-hour later the four of them were back by the statue of the one eyed witch, Fred and Angelina panting slightly. 

“Did you find anything?” Fred wheezed, hunched over.

“Nothing in the Ravenclaw tower,” George began, “but-”

“Nothing in Gryffindor Tower or the trophy room,” Lee added, brushing some dust off of his coat. “The trophy room, however, could use a thorough cleaning. I can’t believe they would let the house elves get away with this filth.”

George tapped his foot impatiently. “Guys—”

“Well,” Angelina looked at Lee, her head tipped sideways. “The house elves were technically serving Dumbledore, not the school, so it would make sense if they weren’t here anymore.”

“Except,” Fred added, his breath back, “—we know that they’re here. They’re chained down in the kitchens.”

“Hey!” George yelled, raising his hands. “Permission to speak? Please? Professor? I’m right here!”

“Yes, George?” Fred asked sweetly, blinking innocently at his brother.

“First off, I hate you,” George scowled at Fred, who grinned back. “Second, there’s something I need to tell—”

“Someone’s coming!” Angelina gasped, pointing up the hallway.

A slow thud of footsteps was echoing down the stone halls, and a silhouette soon appeared in the dim light.

“Quick!” Lee gasped, grabbing hold of Fred and dragging him other to the side of the hall. George did the same to Angelina. He climbed up behind the rump of the one eyed witch, crouching uncomfortably behind the statue. Angelina was crouched below him, her body cloaked in her cloak, disguised in the shadow of the statue. Across from them, Lee and Fred were wiggling behind two incredibly large suits of armor.

“Filch ought to take better care of this place.”

George held his breath, his blood running cold. Of course the delegate was the last person he wanted to see. 

Bartemius had paused by the one eyed witch statue, and was staring at it with a lost expression on his face. It was an expression George knew all too well. Emile often had that expression on her face. Especially when she communicated with Bartemius.

“Or get rid of that hideous cat,” Bartemius sniffed, shaking himself from his trance with a pointed look at where Angelina lay, concealed. She looked up at George, tears in her eyes, and gave a hardly convincing hiss. George could see her eyes narrowing as she glared hatefully at Bartemius.

Bartemius stared at the statue a moment longer before turning back up the hallway. At that moment a loud clang sounded behind him.

George peeked his head up and over the statue to see Fred covering his mouth with his hands in shock, staring at a steel glove lying on the ground.

“Who’s there?” Bartemius called, his voice ringing out through the hall. No one stepped out to meet him.

“Filthy underclassmen,” Bartemius grumbled, straightening out his robe and turning on heel. 

As he turned out of the hallway, Angelina let out a small sob below George, her hands covering her mouth.

“Hey,” George awkwardly slid down next to her and gave her a pat on the back.

“Y-you to-t-told me it was bad-d,” Angelina spluttered out, “b-but I wouldn’t have im-magined th-th-”

“That?” George interrupted knowingly.

“Yes,” Angelina whimpered, burying her face in the sleeve of her shirt and continuing her crying. George could do nothing but attempt to comfort, so he remained by her side, rubbing her back, until she had stopped crying.

“It was Lee,” Fred gasped, appearing next to them with the steel glove in his hand. “Wow, Angie? What’s going on here?”

“That was Bartemius,” Lee said somewhat hoarsely, his arms wrapped around himself vulnerably.

“Yes,” Fred looked from Lee to Angelina. “Oh, right. You haven’t seen him yet.”

“You could at least pretend to be empathetic, Fred,” Angelina sighed, rubbing her eyes once more. “We should go.”

“Do you want to be the one to tell Nat that we didn’t find his sister?” Fred crossed his arms. “We can do one more hour of searching. I’ll go with Lee, you go with George.”

“Al-alright,” Angelina gave Fred an odd look before climbing to her feet, with the help of George. “Have fun?”

“Yeah,” Fred cast George a frown as he turned on his heel and swept down the hall with Lee, in the trail of Bartemius.

“Where should we go?” Angelina asked hoarsely, hugging the cloak around her body. 

“I was thinking to check the seventh floor,” George tapped his foot as he spoke, nodding to himself. “Neville knew about the Room of Requirement, it sounds very likely that he’d be there.” 

“Alright,” Angelina said quietly, trailing behind George as they headed towards the stairs. 

They climbed to the seventh floor in silence, hiding as best they could. The stone stairs were silent as their feet brushed lightly on the worn steps. On the seventh floor they searched frantically for the familiar Barnabas the Barny. 

“Was it moved?” Angelina whispered anxiously, as they walk back up the hall for a third time.

“It couldn’t have been!” George yelped frantically, eyes anxiously scanning the wall as he ran up the hall, ahead of Angelina.

“George!” She called after him in a rather loud stage whisper.

“What?!” He called back in the same tone of voice. 

“Was this broom cupboard always here?”

Angelina was standing before a door half the size of her. It was plain, and painted grey like the rock around them. 

“Try it out,” George encouraged eagerly, running back up to her.

Angelina got down on her hands and knees, cloak sweeping out behind her as she crawled into the confined area.

“There’s nothing here!”

“Did you hear that?” An unfamiliar voice echoed down the hall.

“Who was that?” Angelina whispered, eyes wide.

“Make me some room!” George hissed, getting down and frantically backing into the enclosed space, shutting the door behind him. Immediately the two were enclosed in darkness.

“Who was it?” Angelina whispered, leaning forward so that her face uncomfortably close to George’s. He couldn’t see, but he felt her sweet breath on his face.

“Hush, I’m listening,” George whispered back, leaning against the cold stone door. Wait, cold stone door?

“Angie, where’s the door?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, the door’s gone.”

“What do you mean, the doors gone?”

“I mean, it’s not there anymore! Just a solid wall!”

“What?!” 

Angelina leaned over, hands slamming against George’s nose in the darkness.

“Stop!” George gasped, holding his hand to his nose. “Christ, Angelina. My nose.”

“I’m sorry!” Angelina gasped from somewhere near George.

“Is the door on your side?” George grunted, feeling blood pour from his nose.

“I-I don’t know,” Angelina had turned away from him, her voice was echoing back to him. “Wait, I think it is!”

“Open it!”

Angelina opened the door, and the two of them immediately tumbled out onto the floor.

“Intruders!”

“Wands up!”

“Wait!” George gasped, standing up and putting his hands in the air. “Don’t shoot!”

“We’re friendlies!” Angelina added, hopping up. Unfortunately, the hood over her face gave her a very dementor like appearance, and George immediately went down to pull it back.

“Thanks,” Angelina breathed, looking up at George and wincing. “Oh man, your nose.”

“Angelina? George?”

The two turned back the the small crowd before them, hands still up in the air. Neville Longbottom stepped out of the crowd, a wild grin on his face.

“Neville!” Angelina laughed, swooping over and wrapping him in a hug. “We’re so glad to see you!”

“I can see,” Neville laughed back, holding his hand out to George. “Come on, Weasley, let’s get that nose fixed and swap some news.”

Neville led them over to a corner of the room with the Hufflepuff banner hanging on the wall, whispering something into the ear of a pretty blonde before turning back to them. “Here, let’s sit.”

“Look at you,” Angelina grinned, wiggling her eyebrows. “I like leader Neville.”

“Yeah…” Neville gave a wry smile and rubbed his neck with his hand. “Well, it’s been a long year.”

“I can tell,” George nodded his thanks to the blonde Hufflepuff as she gave him a wet rag and some ointment, looking around. “What is all this?”

He did not recognize the room at all. It was enormous, and looked rather like the interior of a particularly sumptuous tree house, or perhaps a gigantic ship’s cabin. Multicolored hammocks were strung from the ceiling and from a balcony that ran around the dark wood-paneled and windowless walls, which were covered in bright tapestry hangings of the house banners. Well, three of the house banners. There seemed to be no Slytherin.  There were bulging bookcases, a few broomsticks propped against the walls, and in the corner, a large wooden-cased wireless radio. 

“We’re still the DA, mate,” Neville grinned at George as he cleaned the blood from his face. “Actually, I started all this. More people just ended up, showing up.”

“Neville really knows this room,” the blonde said with a smile at Neville, sitting down next to him. “He’s the one who makes sure the Carrows don’t get in, that we have food and supplies.”

“Well, Hannah exaggerates. We get the food from a supporter,” Neville shrugged, an unconcealable proud smile on his face. “But enough about me, what are you two doing here?”

“We came to check on you,” Angelina didn’t look away from the room as she spoke. “We’re also checking on a Ravenclaw you might know, Adelaide?”

“Adelaide Ackerman?” Neville pointed over to the Ravenclaw corner, at a brunette swinging in a hammock with two friends as they pored over a book of some sorts. “She’s perfectly safe, tell Nathan not to worry.”

“We’re all worried,” Angelina sighed, putting her hand over her eyes. “The condition of the school is just terrible.”

“Don’t worry Angelina,” Neville gave a nod and looked over at the Hufflepuff next to him. “We can handle it.”

“We have hope,” Hannah said with a soft smile. “Harry will be back to help reclaim the school, like he’s done so many times already.”

Angelina and George were entirely unwilling to leave the comfort of the new DA’s setup, but it was high time they returned to Fred and Lee. Neville gave them a handful of enchanted galleons like the DA used to use to hand out to the others when they got back home, and a long hug, and they were back off through the magical doorway. It led them out to a different part of the castle then they had entered from, directly across from the statue of the one eyed witch. 

“Remarkable,” Angelina mused as she helped George out of the tiny crawlspace. “It led us exactly where we needed to go.”

“Where we required to go,” George laughed, brushing dust off of his shoulders.

“Look out!” Angelin yelled, pulling George against the wall as a red spark collided with the wall where they had been standing a moment ago, reducing several bricks to dust.

“The reductor curse?” George gasped, staring in shock.

“Quick!” Angelina gasped, pulling him towards the one-eyed witch, her head lowered.

George fumbled with his wand, tapping the witch and hurriedly yelling “dissendium!”

As the statue slid back for them to jump in, it grew incredibly cold. George and Angelina turned to see a dementor coming their way, hood buffeting menacingly.

“George!” Angelina screamed, grabbing his arm.

“Dissendium!” He gasped, smacking his wand into the statue. It slid out of the way a bit too slowly for George’s taste, and the two of them jumped down into the tunnel and closed it up after them.

At that moment a streak of silver fell through the ceiling, taking the shape of a hyena.

“Slight complications,” Fred’s voice echoed throughout the tunnel. “We’ll meet you by the tunnel.”

“Complications?” Angelina frowned, glancing up at George. “What do you think-”

A screeching noise from above them cut Angelina off, as both she and George covered their ears with their hands. The one-eyed witch was moving, and the searing cold was seeping into the tunnel.

“Run!” George yelled, grabbing Angelina by the arm. They took off down the hall, wands held in front of them, gasping for breath. The cold was burning George’s skin but he tried to ignore it, his heart was pounding so loud that it echoed back in his ears.

“It’s gaining on us!” Angelina cried out looking up at George for a split second.

A split second was all it took. 

Angelina’s foot got caught on a rock jutting out of the bottom of the tunnel, and she fell onto the ground with a loud, “oof.”

“Angie!” George cried out, turning around and holding his wand high. The dementor was over her, long, skeletal fingers reaching out.

“George!” Angelina screamed back as she attempted to back away as the dementor leaned in closer to her.

Holding his wand aloft, George summoned all the happiest thoughts he could think of, his mind focusing on Emile’s face.

“Expecto Patronum!”

The spell shot out of his wand and took the form of a coyote, colliding with the dementor and throwing it against the roof of the tunnel with an eerie scream.

“Get up, get up!” George gasped, pulling Angelina onto her feet and pushing her ahead of him. The ceiling was cracking, dust was pouring down on top of them. Up ahead, a pillar that supported the ceiling was quivering.

“We can’t make it!” Angelina yelled back at him as they rocketed towards the pillar.

“We can make it, we CAN make it!” George hollered back, pushing her forward.

They drew nearer and nearer to the pillar, watching it grow more and more unsafe. As Angelina drew a mere two steps away, it slowly began to crumble.

“No!” George threw himself at Angelina, pushing her back to assumed safety, as the pillar came down around them.

* * *

 


	84. Headmaster Snape

* * *

 

The majestic view of Hogwarts never failed to impress Bartemius. The towers and turrets glowed eerily in the moon’s light as it slowly began to rise into the sky. If only the view wasn’t so horribly marred by the many dementors surrounding the school grounds. 

With a sigh Bartemius trudged up the slope, one booted foot in front of the other. Nowadays he wore all black, dark pants with dark shoes and dark shirts. Today's ensemble featured dark blue jeans with black boots and an old black concert t-shirt from a weird sisters concert Narcissa and Bellatrix had attended in their prime. To appear formal for this diplomatic visit, Bartemius had thrown on the last minute additions of a long sleeved robe and a dangling black scarf. It covered the band logo and made him appear more professional than he actually was. 

The Dark Lord enjoyed sending Bartemius on petty duties to deliver messages to different Death Eaters. If he needed to summon them he would use the dark mark, but all other forms of communication risked interception. Today’s recipient was a certain Severus Snape. 

Amycus and Alecto Carrow were whispering amongst themselves, looking very concerned as they glanced around the entrance hall. Bartemius frowned, knowing for certain something was off with the angsty twins.

“Bartemius,” Amycus jumped and bowed as Bartemius strode into the hall.

“Don’t flatter me, Amycus,” Bartemius sniffed. “I haven’t forgotten how you tried to hurt my body, you and that idiot sister of yours.”

Alecto Carrow, who was standing beside her brother, bowed as Bartemius swept past her. “What brings you to Hogwarts?”

“The Dark Lord wished me to check in on the school,” Bartemius said vaguely. “There haven’t been any students out of bed, has there?”

“The incompetent oaf of a caretaker would probably miss any that were,” Alecto sniffed, tossing her brown hair over her shoulder.

“And where is the Headmaster?” Bartemius stared down a glowering Amycus.

“The Headmaster tends to remain in his office,” Alecto said quickly, bowing again. “If it pleases you, Bartemius, I can show you the way.”

“Any idiot can locate the gigantic stone gargoyle leading to the headmaster's office,” Bartemius snapped, crossing his arms “I will need the password.”

“‘For Voldemort and Valor’, Bartemius, sir,” Alecto couldn’t get the words out properly, and bowed three more times as Bartemius shoved past him and into the school.

“Thank you, Carrow’s. I will relay your usefulness to the Dark Lord, and perhaps you’ll be rewarded with a promotion of sorts. I can’t imagine teaching in a school such as this is enjoyable.”

“While Alecto always dreamed of being a schoolteacher, I would dedicate my life to the Dark Lord service, just as you have,” Amycus gushed, bowing again.

“Ugh, enough with the bowing,” Bartemius snapped, picking up his pace as he power walked away from the twins. Death Eaters were always sucking up to him, thinking it would get the Dark Lord on their good sides. The only person who’d truly made a lasting impression was Augustus Rookwood, who’d treated Bartemius to a home cooked steak dinner. 

Hogwarts had changed remarkably since his last visit here. Slytherin colors decorated most of the school, and the large hourglasses displaying house points were rusty and faded. Dust swirled lazily through the weak light that poured down from tarnished chandeliers, and cobwebs lazily waved down at Bartemius in greeting.

“Filch ought to take better care of this place,” Bartemius muttered, suppressing the shiver that wanted to go up his spine as he glanced around the dusty halls in disdain. Over there was the statue of the one eyed witch, blocking one of Emile’s most commonly used passageways to the school. “Or get rid of that hideous cat.”

A hiss from the shadows by the statue indicated the presence of Mrs. Norris, and Bartemius hissed back at the filthy cat. The only way to locate it was by staring into it’s cold, narrowed eyes; they glowed angrily at Bartemius through the dark.

**_I didn’t want any of this. You made me do this._ **

There was no response.

A pang clawed at Bartemius’s stomach. Anger? Guilt? He couldn’t tell. 

There was a loud clang behind Bartemius that caused him to whip around, wand in hand.

“Who’s there?” He called, his voice ringing out. No one stepped out to meet him. In his peripheral vision Bartemius saw the glaring eyes slowly blink.

“Filthy underclassmen,” Bartemius grumbled, straightening out his robe and turning on heel. As he turned out of the hallways he could have sworn a small sob echoed down the stone corridor, but it was definitely a trick of the ears.

“For Voldemort and Valor,” Bartemius called lazily as he approached the stone gargoyle. Its chest seemed to heave a small sigh as it stepped out of the way rather than give its usual leap, revealing the stairs to the headmasters office.

“You’re losing your luster,” he drawled at the living hunk of rock, stepping past it and sweeping up the spiral staircase. The wooden door at the top was slightly ajar, so Bartemius took it as an invitation to step inside. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

“You look terrible.”

Severus Snape winced away from the light streaming in from the doorway. His usually greasy hair was matte and dull, and his robes seemed in dire need of a wash. His steely grey eyes that so often seemed to bore into others, simply dully glistened in recognition.

“You’ve looked better, Mister Crouch.”

Bartemius shivered. “Even your voice is different, what happened to you?”

Snape heaved a sigh and slouched down in his chair, his head rolling to the side. “What message does the Dark Lord have for me now?”

“Are you…” Bartemius paused and sniffed the air, drawing back in disgust. “Merlin’s beard, have you been drinking?”

“Have you not?” Snape’s eyes glistened teasingly, something much more disturbing than anything Bartemius had seen from the professor.

“Severus, mate, pull yourself together,” Bartemius moaned, pulling out a vial of memories and opening up the pensieve. “The Dark Lord has a lecture coming your way.”

“I’m terrified,” Snape sighed, standing up on shaky legs and wobbling over to the pensieve. 

Bartemius frowned at his old acquaintance and former potions master. The greasy haired nerd hadn’t been this down since the first fall of the Dark Lord.

“So, Severus,” Bartemius leaned against the pensieve and poured in a stream of silver memories, “been anywhere recently?”

“Only a dank, freezing forest,” Snape sighed. “I was… no, no, nevermind. Have you seen Longbottom?”

“Neville Longbottom?” Bartemius frowned, confused. “No, why would I?”

“We can’t find him,” Snape sighed, leaning over the pensieve so that the silver light illuminated his sunken face. “Though he might come out for Emile Gorska.”

Bartemius couldn’t help but smirk. “Then maybe you should spread the news that Emile is here.”

Severus sighed. “Sure, whatever. Get the Carrows on it.” 

With that the headmaster stuck his head into the pensieve and left Bartemius alone.

“I was only joking,” Bartemius scoffed, walking over to the headmaster's chair and slouching down in it. The cushy, throne-like armchair let out a wheeze as Bartemius felt his tush sink into the cushion. 

Around him, the portraits of headmasters were stirring, blinking down at Bartemius. Some were glaring and whispering to their partners, others snorted and left their paintings entirely. The only one blinking calmly up at him was Dumbledore.

“Professor Albus Dumbledore,” Bartemius smiled warmly at the bearded man. “Long time no see.”

“Barty Crouch Junior,” Dumbledore responded with an equally faked amount of welcome. “I see you’re doing very well.”

“Can’t say the same for Emile,” Bartemius chuckled, expecting Dumbledore to be appalled.

“No, I don’t suppose you can, “ Dumbledore laughed, shaking his head. “And neither can she.”

Bartemius stared, stricken, as Dumbledore finished chuckling at his own joke.

“Whatever’s the matter, Barty?” The Professor seemed to stare through Bartemius with his confused yet cold eyes. “Can’t an old man humor himself? It isn’t like Severus was a natural-born comedian.”

“Yes… sir,” Bartemius leaned back in the chair, staring at the portrait. “I simply thought that you of all people wouldn’t find the slightest bit of humor in her situation.”

“You mean, your situation?” Dumbledore smiled and shook his head. “Self-deprecating humor is an art, Barty. You’ve managed to take yours to an entirely new level.”

“Could you refrain from calling me Barty?” Bartemius frowned at the portrait and crossed his arms. “It’s demeaning.”

“Of course, Emile.”

Bartemius flinched away from the painting as the fake blue eyes of dumbledore bored into his. “What are you up to, old man?”

“Me?” Dumbledore blinked innocently. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Bartemius stood up as Snape emerged from the pensieve, frowning.

“Time to sober up, Sev,” Bartemius snapped, walking towards the door.

“The Carrows already have students practicing forbidden curses on their peers in detention, what else can I do to be more intimidating?” Snape hissed, grabbing Bartemius by the shoulder. 

“Severus, mate,” Bartemius frowned at the headmaster. “When was the last time any students saw you out and about? From what I hear, you seldom leave this pigsty. You need to be involved in the torturing of the students, and in their daily routines. They won’t respect you otherwise.”

“I—” Severus broke off as the door creaked open. A student was shoved into the room by an intimidating figure, a tall, dark skinned man. His hair was incredibly poofy, and one of his eyes were marred with what looked like a serious scratch. It glowed a milky blue as it surveyed the room blindly, the other eye a warm brown. Bartemius winced as that eye met is, and a both of them flinched away. Was he imagining it, or was there a hint of recognition there?

The student was rather tall, perhaps in his 5th or 6th year, with mopey brown hair and round glasses. He looked like any normal student, not the trouble making type at all.

Both intruders faces went pale once they realized they had stumbled upon something important, the man’s eyes flickering from Bartemius to Snape, and back again. The student had fixed his terrified eyes on Bartemius, and did not look away.

“Severus, who is this?” Bartemius frowned, sweeping the cloak behind him. “And do you not teach your employees how to knock?”

“I-”

“Forgive us, Headmaster,” the strange man interrupted, bowing his head to the two of them. “The student was caught out after hours, we believe he may carry information on the whereabouts of Neville Longbottom, sir.”

“The location of Neville and his gang was designated as a task for the Carrow’s at last week's meeting, if you were able to recall,” Snape immediately sobered up as he glared intimidatingly at the newcomer. 

“They told me to bring him to you, Headmaster, Sir.”

“I don’t recall seeing you around before… Bartemius, can you confirm?”

Bartemius looked the strangers up and down, his gaze harsh, The student was a stranger to him, as was the adult. But there was something familiar about his voice, and the gleam in his eyes when he looked over at Bartemius. A part of him recognized those eyes.

**Lee!**

Immediately Bartemius felt his head pound. A migraine so sudden and powerful that he fell onto his knees, hands on the floor. He was dimly aware of Severus Snape asking what was wrong, but the pain was overwhelming. The memories coursing through him were too much to bear. He faintly heard a voice speak for him, his mouth moved but he had no control over his actions. 

“I know him. He’s one of us.”

A swift kick in the side brought him back to reality.

“Get up, you dung heap, and take these two to the Carrow’s on your way out,” Snape hissed, turning away from the group. “You’re so dramatic, Bartemius.”

“Hypocrite,” Bartemius grumbled, standing up. His headache had faded to a nagging thud, which he contained by avoiding eye contact with the intruders. “Keep our message in mind, Severus. We wouldn’t want to get on the Dark Lords bad side.”

“You already are,” Snape grumbled as Bartemius ushered the two out the door, closing it shut behind him.

“Where are the Carrows?” He hissed disapprovingly as they made their way down the stairs, avoiding eye contact.

“We…”

Lee couldn’t make eye contact with Bartemius either.

“Nevermind that. Follow me.”

They swept out of the staircase, the giant gargoyle leaping in front of the concealed staircase much more enthusiastically than it had previously.

Bartemius was muttering to himself, small spark shooting out of the wand he gripped tight in his hand. Out of the corner of his eye he could see the wand Lee carried, hazel… 

Bartemius stumbled as a throbbing pain shot through his temple, causing him to gasp in pain.

“E- Bartemius?” Lee did a poor job of concealing his blunder as Bartemius searched for an escape through teary eyes.

“In here,” He gasped, shoving Lee and the student into an abandoned classroom.

“No, wait—” the student objected, hand flying to cover his face.

Bartemius didn’t listen, locking the door to the classroom behind him. With a flick of his wand the windows in the room were drawn shut and the candles along the wall were ignited, providing them with some light. 

“What the hell, Lee,” Bartemius hissed, turning on them and immediately falling backwards. Whatever spell the two had been under, it had worn off now. Lee was standing before him with Fred, the two of them disguised rather poorly.

“YOU two better be here on your own,” Bartemius sighed, putting his hand to his forehead and shutting his eyes.

“Um…” Lee and Fred exchanged a glance.

“No, no, don’t tell me,” Bartemius sighed, looking up towards the ceiling. “Angelina and Georgie tagged along too.”

“Nat’s here too… somewhere…” Fred offered a small comforting smile, and Bartemius threw his hands in the air and turned away.

“I’m trying to keep her alive, you do realize this right?”

“No, I don’t,” Lee snapped, eyes narrowing. “I don’t see how taking over her body and damaging her soul helps anything at all.”

“They would have killed her if I didn’t,” Bartemius attempted to defend himself, but his heart was breaking. They had every right to be upset. He felt guilty for his mistakes, and Emile was just another one now. If only he could have just died… 

Lee sighed and lifted his wand, sending a streak of silver into the air. “There, George and Angie will meet us back the passage.”

“Passage?” Bartemius immediately looked up, his blood turning cold. “Not the one eyed witch passage?”

“Yes, the one eyed witch passage,” Lee snapped, glaring at Bartemius.

“You can’t!” Bartemius looked from Lee to Fred. “They know about it, they send dementors down it hourly, you all could die!”

“Dementors?” Fred yelped, turning to Lee with wide eyes. “Listen mate, I don’t want to run into one of those. I don’t want to put Angie in trouble either. And it sounds like he’s offering to help us…” Fred turned to Bartemius hesitantly. “Are you offering to help us?”

“Well, I haven’t turned you in yet,” Bartemius shrugged.

“How do we know you aren’t setting us up?” Lee objected, putting his hand in front of Fred.

Bartemius heaved a sigh. “Because… I’m doing it for her.”

Lee’s narrowed eyes didn’t leave Bartemius face for a second. “Say her name.”

“Emile. I’m doing it for Emile.”

“Seems believable enough,” Fred grinned and clasped his hands together, rubbing them up and down. “So, Bartemius, mate, what's the plan?”

“No shenanigans,” Bartemius frowned at Fred. “Just keep calm, and follow me.”

Fred looked like he wanted to object, but a smoldering glare from Bartemius silenced him. 

Turning on his heels, Bartemius led the way out of the classroom and into the hall, extinguishing the candles in the room behind him. The trio made their way down the hall, strolling casually, towards the statue of the one eyed witch. Though at one point Alecto Carrow was glimpsed making her way up a staircase, there was no objections or confrontations. No one would dare confront Bartemius, personal messenger of the Dark Lord.

“Almost there,” Bartemius breathed a sigh of relief as the hall in which the one eyed witch came into view. 

**_Almost home free._ **

**_Almost there._ **

**_I won’t feel guilty much longer._ **

As soon as Bartemius turned the corner, a red spark flashed past his face and collided with the brick wall behind him. 

“What the devil,” Bartemius hissed, glaring through the disturbed dust particles that floated through the cold air. Unusually cold air.

With a growl Bartemius took out his wand and swept it to the side, clearing the air before him. Directly in front of the one eyed witch passage was Amycus Carrow, guiding a dementor out of the passage. The creature was frazzled, and seemed much more frustrated than normal.

“Bartemius!” Amycus crooned, bowing as he approached. “I have caught two former students attempting to enter the school. They are in the passageway, unconscious. I was about to go get them.”

“There will be no need for that,” Bartemius yelped, heart racing. “I will take care of the pests, you escort this creature outside to rejoin the school's defense.”

“Y-yes, Bartemius,” Amycus looked thoroughly confused, but did not object as he led the dementor down the hall, glancing back at Bartemius every few feet. 

As soon as he turned the corner, Fred and Lee ran past Bartemius, wands drawn. 

“Dissendium,” Fred gasped, whacking the statue so hard Bartemius was surprised his wand didn’t break. The statue moved to the side, and the three of them disappeared down the tunnel. 

Not far down, concealed in the shadows of some piles of crumbling brick, were the bruised bodies of George and Angelina. They were lying on the cold hard ground, George somewhat wrapped around Angelina. 

“Not alright, brother,” Fred frowned at the two, kicking George off of his girlfriend and picking her up in her arms. “Merlin, she’s ice cold.”

“You don’t think their souls were…” Bartemius lost track of his words as Fred and Lee simultaneously glared at him. “Sorry, sorry. Insensitive.”

“We’re leaving,” Lee frowned, levitating George up with his wand. “You’ll figure out a cover, I assume?”

“I don’t have much of a choice,” Bartemius shrugged, turning away. “Emile would—”

A bright light shot down the tunnel, careening into Bartemius and throwing him into the stone wall.

“Hey!” Fred whipped around, wand in hand. “Who’s the tough guy?”

Amycus Carrow walked around the corner, eyes narrowed. Alecto followed at his heels. Bartemius jumped up at the sight of them and stood in front of the group, wand drawn defensively.

Amycus narrowed his eyes as he scanned over the group. “Bartemius. Catching them, are you?”

“I’ll hold them off,” Bartemius hissed back to Emile’s friends. “Get out of here.”

“Will you be alright?” Lee demanded, grabbing Bartemius by the arm. Bartemius knew that Lee wasn’t talking about him.

“They won’t kill me,” Bartemius smirked confidently, straightening his back. His false smirk dropped after a moment. “Go!”

Fred and Lee ran off down the tunnel, taking their unconscious comrades with them. Lee looked back for a moment, eyes locking with Bartemius’s. They were sad, but had a faint glimmer of something new in them.

A red spark colliding with the wall brought Bartemius back to the present. He ducked down, narrowly avoiding a green streak that would have hit his leg, before throwing up a shield charm. 

“Did you just throw the Avada Kedavra at me?” He bellowed, taking a few threatening steps closer to the twins.

“Did you just help those miscreants escape?” Alecto countered, shooting a curse that Bartemius easily defected.

“We all looked up to you, Bartemius,” Amycus hissed, eyes blazing as he shot off a short round of curses that knocked Bartemius off balance. “You were the one who came back to the Dark Lord, the second known to conquer death!”

“Were you allied with them this whole time?!” Alecto shrieked, her hair blown back as she lunged forward, send three balls of fire careening towards Bartemius. He swept his wand up to meet each one individually with a freezing spell, but he misjudged one of his shots. It careened with his left arm, sending a burning pain through his body that left him screaming.

Amycus and Alecto now leaned over him as he blinked back tears of pain, wand hastily lifted.

“The great Barty Crouch Junior,” Amycus sneered, yellow teeth flashing. “You trained with Bellatrix Lestrange, and you won’t even put up a fight.”

“Watch me,” Bartemius hissed, flicking his wrist upwards. The twins were forced to jump back further into the tunnel as the rock above them began to crumble, collapsing on the two of them, and blocking them off from Bartemius.

“Rot in hell,” he hissed, limping away from the rubble. He had to get out of there, to escape to somewhere safe. Where would he go what would he do? How would—

There was an ear splitting blast that knocked Bartemius into the air. He flew several feet, bouncing from the roof of the tunnel down onto the hard floor, his sight spinning from a riveting crack as his head hit the floor. 

“No,” Bartemius wheezed out as two pairs of feet entered his rapidly shrinking field of vision, and the tunnel suddenly grew much, much darker.

As Bartemius awoke from his unconscious state, he felt as if he were coming from a deep sleep. His eyelids were incredibly heavy, it pained him to lift them, and his ears were ringing profusely. Everything around him felt, looked, and sounded fuzzy, muted, soft. As if he was underwater. 

Feet were moving somewhere in his line of fuzzy vision, and soft voices sounded here and there, some raised in anger, while others tried to calm the situation. Through his distorted hearing, Bartemius could make out a few phrases and sentences.

“... no reason to bring him out now…”

“... three days… could have died if…”

“What…. care?”

“Bella!”

“He’s a traitor!”

“He was your friend!”

“I don’t have friends! Friends are a weakness!”

“Are you so weak that you can’t admit that Bartemius was your friend, Bella?”

“Narcissa, you are provoking her.”

“Lucius get your hands off of me!”

“I am NOT weak! Crucio! Imperio! Sectumsempra! CRUCIO”

Bartemius wasn’t sure if the spells was aimed at him, or if whomever it was aimed at had moved out of the way, but his shrieks of pain were added to the raised voices that followed the spell. Blood was pooling around him, and tears were burning up his eyes. Bartemius understood the pain Emile had felt before he had took over, and her willingness to give up with her usual fight. He’d do anything to stop the pain… 

It was as if his prayers had been answered. The doors to the room opened wide, and three familiar silhouettes stepped into the light. Emile smiled faintly through her pain at the sight of red hair, even if it wasn’t the redhead she was expecting to see... 

* * *

 


	85. Malfoy Manor

* * *

 

It was a nightmare. The trappers, Dean, Hermione. Especially Hermione. Ron shook as he thought of her, alone with those monsters. And Emile—er, Bartemius. They were there too. Tortured into unconsciousness, but they were there. But Hermione, Hermione!

“HERMIONE!” Ron bellowed, and he started to writhe and struggle against the ropes tying him to Harry. “HERMIONE!” 

“Be quiet!” Harry said. “Shut up. Ron, we need to work out a way—“ 

“HERMIONE! HERMIONE!” 

“We need a plan, stop yelling—we need to get these ropes off—“ 

“Harry?” came a whisper through the darkness. “Ron? Is that you?” 

Ron stopped shouting. There was a sound of movement close by them, then he saw a shadow moving towards them. “Harry? Ron?” 

“Luna?” Harry gasped from behind him.

“Yes, it’s me! Oh no, I didn’t want you to be caught!” 

“Luna, can you help us get these ropes off?” said Harry. 

“Oh yes, I expect so. . . . There’s an old nail we use if we need to break anything. . . . Just a moment . . . ” 

Hermione screamed again from overhead, and they could hear Bellatrix screaming too, but her words were inaudible, for Ron shouted again, “HERMIONE! HERMIONE!” But it was no use. Shouting wouldn’t save them or her. Ron took a deep breath as he turned his attention back to Luna, wherever she was.

“Mr. Ollivander?” 

They could hear Luna talking. 

“Mr. Ollivander, have you got the nail? If you just move over a little bit . . . I think it was beside the water jug.” 

She was back within seconds. 

“You’ll need to stay still,” she said. 

Ron could feel her digging at the rope’s tough fibers to work the knots free. 

From upstairs they heard Bellatrix’s voice. “I’m going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?” 

“We found it—we found it—PLEASE!” Hermione screamed again; Ron struggled harder than ever, unaware that the rusty nail slipped onto Harry’s wrist. 

“Ron, please stay still!” Luna whispered. “I can’t see what I’m doing—“ 

“My pocket!” gasped Ron, “In my pocket, there’s a Deluminator, and it’s full of light!” 

A hand brushed against his thigh, and a few seconds later, there was a click, and the luminescent spheres the Deluminator had sucked from the lamps in the tent flew into the cellar: Unable to rejoin their sources, they simply hung there, like tiny suns, flooding the underground room with light. 

They could make out Luna, all eyes in her white face, and the motionless figure of Ollivander the wandmaker, curled up on the floor in the corner. Craning around, they caught sight of their fellow prisoners: Dean Thomas and Griphook the goblin, who seemed barely conscious, kept standing by the ropes that bound him to the humans. 

“Oh, that’s much easier, thanks, Ron,” said Luna, and she began hacking at their bindings again. “Hello, Dean!” 

From above came Bellatrix’s voice. “You’re lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!” 

Another terrible scream— “HERMIONE!” Ron’s blood ran cold.

“What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!” 

“There!” The ropes fell away. 

Ron began running around the cellar, looking up at the low ceiling, searching for a trapdoor. 

Dean, his face bruised and bloody, said “Thanks” to Luna and stood there, shivering, but Griphook sank onto the cellar floor, looking groggy and disoriented, many welts across his swarthy face. 

Ron was trying to disapparate without a wand. 

“There’s no way out, Ron,” said Luna, watching his fruitless efforts. “The cellar is completely escape-proof. I tried, at first. Mr. Ollivander has been here for a long time, he’s tried everything.” 

Hermione was screaming again. Ron gave a visible wince. If only Emile hadn’t been fighting against Bartemius so hard earlier, maybe she could help them now. But she wasn’t any use to them unconscious.

When they had first entered the manor, Rudolphus Lestrange had been torturing both Bartemius and Emile. But the screaming was too female to be Bartemius. He must had shielded himself by hiding away behind Emile’s soul. Ron’s fist tightened as he thought of everything that was going wrong.

“What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!” 

Hermione’s screams echoed off the walls upstairs. Ron let out a sob as he began to pound on the thick concrete walls of the cellar. Next to him, Harry was looking at the broken mirror from Sirius.

“Help us!” he yelled at it in mad desperation. “We’re in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, help us!”

Ron swore louder as Hermione’s screams sounded from the upstairs. “HERMIONE! HERMIONE!”

“But we can find out easily!” came Lucius’s voice. “Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!” 

Harry dashed across the cellar to where Griphook was huddled on the floor and whispered into the goblins ear. 

Someone scuttled down the cellar steps; next moment, Draco’s shaking voice spoke from behind the door. 

“Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you!” 

They did as they were bidden; as the lock turned, Ron clicked the Deluminator and the lights whisked back into his pocket, restoring the cellar’s darkness. 

The door flew open; Malfoy marched inside, wand held out in front of him, pale and determined. He seized the little goblin by the arm and backed out again, dragging Griphook with him. The door slammed shut and at the same moment a loud crack echoed inside the cellar. Ron clicked the Deluminator. 

Three balls of light flew back into the air from his pocket, revealing Dobby the house-elf, who had just Apparated into their midst.

“DOB—!” Harry hit Ron on the arm to stop him shouting, and Ron’s face fell, terrified at his mistake. Footsteps crossed the ceiling overhead: Draco marching Griphook to Bellatrix.

“Harry Potter,” he squeaked in the tiniest quiver of a voice, “Dobby has come to rescue you.” 

“But how did you—?” 

An awful scream drowned Harry’s words: Hermione was being tortured again. 

He winced visibly and cut to the essentials. 

“You can Disapparate out of this cellar?” he asked Dobby, who nodded, his ears flapping. “And you can take humans with you?” 

Dobby nodded again. 

“Right. Dobby, I want you to grab Luna, Dean, and Mr. Ollivander, and take them—take them to—“ 

“Bill and Fleur’s,” said Ron. “Shell Cottage on the outskirts of Tinworth!” 

The elf nodded for a third time. 

“And then come back,” said Harry. “Can you do that, Dobby?” 

“Of course, Harry Potter,” whispered the little elf. He hurried over to Mr. Ollivander, who appeared to be barely conscious. He took one of the wandmaker’s hands in his own, then held out the other to Luna and Dean, neither of whom moved. 

“Harry, we want to help you!” Luna whispered. 

“We can’t leave you here,” said Dean. 

“Go, both of you! We’ll see you at Bill and Fleur’s,” Ron begged. 

“Go!” Harry beseeched to Luna and Dean. “Go! We’ll follow, just go!” 

They caught hold of the elf’s outstretched fingers. There was another loud crack, and Dobby, Luna, Dean, and Ollivander vanished. 

“What was that?” shouted Lucius Malfoy from over their heads. “Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?” 

Harry and Ron stared at each other.

“Draco—no, call Wormtail! Make him go and check!” 

Footsteps crossed the room overhead, then there was silence. 

“We’re going to have to try and tackle him,” he whispered to Ron. “Leave the lights on.” 

As they heard someone descending the steps outside the door, they backed against the wall on either side of it. 

“Stand back,” came Wormtail’s voice. “Stand away from the door. I’m coming in.” 

The door flew open. For a split second Wormtail gazed into the apparently empty cellar, ablaze with light from the three miniature suns floating in midair. Then Harry and Ron launched themselves upon him. Ron seized Wormtail’s wand arm and forced it upwards. Harry slapped a hand to his mouth, muffling his voice. Silently they struggled: Wormtail’s wand emitted sparks; his silver hand closed around Harry’s throat. 

“What is it, Wormtail?” called Lucius Malfoy from above. 

“Nothing!” Ron called back, in a passable imitation of Wormtail’s wheezy voice. “All fine!” 

Harry could barely breathe. 

“You’re going to kill me?” Harry choked, attempting to prise off the metal fingers. “After I saved your life? You owe me, Wormtail!”

To Ron’s surprise, Wormtail’s grip visibly loosened.

“And we’ll have that,” whispered Ron, tugging Wormtail’s wand from his other hand. 

Wandless, helpless, Pettigrew’s pupils dilated in terror. His eyes had slid from Harry’s face to something else. His own silver fingers were moving inexorably toward his own throat. “No—“ 

The silver tool that Voldemort had given his servant had turned upon its disarmed and useless owner; Pettigrew was reaping his reward for his hesitation, his moment of pity; he was being strangled before their eyes. 

“No!” Ron released Wormtail too, and together he and Harry tried to pull the crushing metal fingers from around Wormtail’s throat, but it was no use. Pettigrew was turning blue. 

“Relashio!” said Ron, pointing the wand at the silver hand, but nothing happened; Pettigrew dropped to his knees, and at the same moment, Hermione gave a dreadful scream from overhead. Wormtail’s eyes rolled upward in his purple face; he gave a last twitch, and was still. 

Harry and Ron looked at each other, then leaving Wormtail’s body on the floor behind them, ran up the stairs and back into the shadowy passageway leading to the drawing room. 

Cautiously they crept along it until they reached the drawing room door, which was ajar. Now they had a clear view of Bellatrix looking down at Griphook, who was holding Gryffindor’s sword in his long- fingered hands. Hermione was lying at Bellatrix’s feet. She was barely stirring. Not four feet away from her lay Emile, her hazel eyes open as she watched Ron and Harry from the side of the room. Her hair was more blonde than blue, it’s charred black edges crunching against the carpet of the manor. A small pool of blood surrounded her legs, and her pale arms were scarred and bruised.

Ron put one finger to his lips as he locked eyes with her.

If Emile saw and understood the message he was attempting to convey, she gave no sign of it.

“Well?” Bellatrix said to Griphook. “Is it the true sword?” 

“No,” said Griphook. “It is a fake.” 

“Are you sure?” panted Bellatrix. “Quite sure?” 

“Yes,” said the goblin. 

Relief broke across her face, all tension drained from it. 

“Good,” she said, and with a casual flick of her wand she slashed another deep cut into the goblin’s face, and he dropped with a yell at her feet. 

She kicked him aside. 

“And now,” she said in a voice that burst with triumph, “we call the Dark Lord!” 

And she pushed back her sleeve and touched her forefinger to the Dark Mark.

“And I think,” said Bellatrix’s voice, “we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her.” 

“NOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Ron burst into the drawing room; Bellatrix looked around, shocked; she turned her wand to face Ron instead— 

“Expelliarmus!” he roared, pointing Wormtail’s wand at Bellatrix, and hers flew into the air and was caught by Harry, who had sprinted after Ron. Lucius, Narcissa, Draco and Greyback wheeled about; Harry yelled, “Stupefy!” and Lucius Malfoy collapsed onto the hearth. Jets of light flew from Draco’s, Narcissa’s, and Greyback’s wands; Harry threw himself to the floor, rolling behind a sofa to avoid them. 

“STOP OR SHE DIES!”

Bellatrix was supporting Hermione, who seemed to be unconscious, and was holding her short silver knife to Hermione’s throat. 

“Drop your wands,” she whispered. “Drop them, or we’ll see exactly how filthy her blood is!”

Ron stood rigid, clutching Wormtail’s wand. Harry straightened up, still holding Bellatrix’s. 

“I said, drop them!” she screeched, pressing the blade into Hermione’s throat: Ron stiffened as he saw beads of blood appear there.

“All right!” Harry shouted, and he dropped Bellatrix’s wand onto the floor at his feet, Ron did the same with Wormtail’s. Both raised their hands to shoulder height. 

“Good!” she leered. “Draco, pick them up! The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!”

Ron glared at the blonde haired git as he picked the fallen wand off of the ground.

“Now,” said Bellatrix softly, as Draco hurried back to her with the wands. “Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight.” 

At the last word there was a peculiar grinding noise from above. All of them looked upward in time to see the crystal chandelier tremble; then, with a creak and an ominous jingling, it began to fall. Bellatrix was directly beneath it; dropping Hermione, she threw herself aside with a scream. The chandelier crashed to the floor in an explosion of crystal and chains, falling on top of Hermione and the goblin, who still clutched the sword of Gryffindor. Glittering shards of crystal flew in all directions; Draco doubled over, his hands covering his bloody face. 

Ron ran over to Hermione, vaguely aware of Harry yelling behind him. He wasn’t completely sure what happened next. All he could focus on was Hermione. She was so strong, there was no way this would beat her. She was not dead. She could not die. But as he pulled her out from underneath the broken chandelier, her hands were deathly cold.

Bellatrix’s shouting made him turn back to the scene in front of him.

“Dobby!” she screamed and even Bellatrix froze. “You! You dropped the chandelier—?” 

The tiny elf trotted into the room, his shaking finger pointing at his old mistress. 

“You must not hurt Harry Potter,” he squeaked. 

“Kill him, Cissy!” shrieked Bellatrix, but there was another loud crack, and Narcissa’s wand too flew into the air and landed on the other side of the room. 

“You dirty little monkey!” bawled Bellatrix. “How dare you take a witch’s wand, how dare you defy your masters?” 

“Dobby has no master!” squealed the elf. “Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!”

“Ron, catch—and GO!” Harry yelled, throwing one of the wands to him.

Ron put one arm around Hermione, hoisting her into a somewhat standing position, before turning towards Emile.

“I’m not letting you rot here,” he mumbled defiantly as he struggled to turn with the two girls leaning against him. Ron managed to disapparate without any splinching, appearing on a darkened cliff. The cottage was a short way away under the wide starry sky, lights inside flickering as people moved around. He began to wave aggressively as he spotted his brother lurking outside the door.

“What happened?” Bill demanded as he approached where Ron lay on the ground with the two girls. “Hey, is that…?”

Ron gave a nod. “It’s Emile. She was under someone else's control, it wasn’t her fault.”

Bill gave his brother an odd look as he picked up the honorary Weasley. “You mean, she was Imperiused?”

Ron shook his head. “No, I’m not completely sure what it was. But she fought back, and they tortured her because of it. We saw her, Bill. When we walked into the manor. Writhing in pain. I never want to see that again.”

* * *

 


	86. Dream a Dream

* * *

 

**She was floating.** No, she was flying. She was swimming through clouds.

“Hello?”

“Hello? Hello? Hello?” the echoes of her voice bounced back to her, growing fainter and fainter. 

“Curious,” she mused, lifting up a hand in front of her and waving it around through the fog. Immediately, it struck a hard barrier. 

She swore to herself and sucked on her sore knuckle as the fog cleared, revealing a pane of polished glass. A mirror? Possibly. She could see her reflection in the glass, a skinny teenager with long blonde hair and green eyes. Her thick rimmed glasses slid down her nose, and she pushed them back up as she was momentarily blinded.

But now the reflection was different. There was to same skinny body, but now she was older, and scarred. Her hair was raggedly cut, blackened at the edges with streaks of blue throughout the blonde. Even curiouser, there was a shadow swimming around her, a shadow of a man.

She pressed herself against the glass, trying to get a closer look. The man was skinny and tall, dressed in a black turtleneck and an army green trench coat. His hair was parted on the left and slicked back with a considerably large amount of gel. And he looked scared. He kept shaking the other her, the stranger. He was yelling something, but no matter how much Emile strained her ears she couldn’t hear him.

She flinched away from the glass as her reflections eyes opened, one the familiar green and the other a darkened hazel.

“Who are you?” She whispered, staring into the heterochromatic eyes before her.

They stared right back, flickering with amusement. “I’m you.”

“Oh.” She continued staring at the reflection. “And, who am I?”

“Don’t you remember anything?” came an anguished voice from the shadow of the man.

“Of course she doesn’t,” the reflection responded in the same cool voice, eye’s still sparkling as she glanced over at the shadow. “No thanks to you.”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen…” came a small whisper from the shadow as it turned away from the reflection towards her. “Emile, you really don’t remember me?”

Emile… Who was Emile? It sounded so familiar. 

“You are Emile,” the reflection spoke calmly, leaning closer to the barrier. “Do you remember Emile’s full name?”

“Emile…” She stared at the reflection. “Yes, of course. I’m Emile Crouch-Gorska Junior. My father wanted to be Minister of Magic and never had time for me. I didn’t care too much and got average grades in school. I went into wandlore, and got involved with Death Eaters so I was sent to Azkaban. But now I’m out, thanks to the Dark Lord. I helped torture Alice and Frank Longbottom.”

The shadow let out a choking sound and disappeared behind the reflection, which was looking at Emile with concern, her eyes dark.

“Emile,” said the reflection. “Tell me about Emile Victoria Gorska.”

“Who’s that?” Emile stared at the reflection.

“I’m Emile Victoria Gorska,” The reflections gaze hardened. “And I am you. So you need to get your shit together and remember who you are, because we’ve got some ass to kick.”

* * *

“Bring her in here,” Mrs. Weasley opened up a prepared room for the unconscious girl. Emile hadn’t woken up since she’d been tortured in Malfoy Manor, not long before Ron and Harry had turned up. Poor Bill and Fleur didn’t know what to do to help her, so Bill had brought Emile over for Mrs. Weasley to watch at their Aunt Muriels. 

“Let me in!”

“George, give her space!”

“I want to see her too!”

“GET BACK ALL OF YOU!”

The Weasley children jumped at their mothers roar.

Molly Weasley sighed and put her arms around the three in front of her. “Ginny, Fred, George. I know you’re worried, we all are. She needs quiet. I trust you all know about what else is inside her, well, who else is inside her. He’s been controlling her body for quite some time. Remus thinks that he was doing it to protect her, and now that she’s safe she’ll come back to us. All we can do is wait.”

“I wish I could speak with Bartemius,” George said in a low voice. “I wish I could get rid of him. None of this would have happened if it weren’t for him.”

Ginny let out a small sob and buried her face in her mother's apron.

“I know, George,” Molly sighed and stroked her daughter’s hair. “I know.”

* * *

**“** What is this place?” 

Emile looked around the fog filled domain.

“Some projection of your subconscious,” the reflection shrugged. “You could probably change it if you wanted to.”

“No, I like it,” Emile smiled and twirled where she floated. “It reminds me of flying.”

“So, you remember flying?” the reflection leaned forward.

Emile paused, staring at the reflection. “I- I think so. I was on a Quidditch team, wasn’t I?”

The reflection nodded. “Do you remember what you played?”

Emile chewed her lip. “I was beater for one year, but I didn’t do much the others… wasn’t I a reserve?”

The reflection let out a trill of approval and applauded Emile. “Brilliant! Yes! What else can you remember about Quidditch?”

“I remember how to play, I remember Fred and George, I remember Angelina being captain. Oh, I remember Oliver.”

The reflection nodded encouragingly. “Good, good. Anything else?”

“I remember,” Emile frowned. “It’s so weird. I remember hating Quidditch. I remember having this gigantic crush on my teams beater, but they were dating the captain. I remember not being good enough for the team.”

“You had a crush on a beater?” The reflection turned to the shadow, which was sulking in the corner.

“No,” it muttered defiantly as the reflection began to grin.

“I think that you two need to talk, first,” the reflection grabbed the shadow and shoved him in front of her, forcing him to look at Emile. “I’m going to wander, you help her remember who she is.”

* * *

“Maybe if we get some of her favorite food, the scent will wake her!” Ginny called out. She was sitting with Fred and George in their shared room in Aunt Muriels. Well, room was generously put. The merchandise filled attic with a bunk bed was more of a storage unit. The three of them were coming up with idea’s to wake Emile.

“That sounds ridiculous,” George snapped as Fred scribbled down Ginny’s suggestion.

“Have you ever seen Fred not wake up for mom’s cooking,” Ginny glared at her brother and crossed her arms.

George opened his mouth to respond, closing it a moment later.

“You think putting Achilles in her room might help?” Fred asked curiously.

“He flew off not long after we started Potterwatch and hasn’t returned,” George grumbled, fiddling with the hem of his sweater.

“We better wrap up,” Fred handed the list over to Ginny with a glare at his twin. “Take this to mom, Lee and Kingsley will be here soon for Potterwatch.”

“Wait!” Ginny took the pen from Fred and added another item to the list.

“What did you write?” Fred asked hopefully, leaning over to read the list.

Ginny looked up at her brothers, eyes shining. “Lee!”

* * *

“So, you really don’t remember me?”

“No, sorry. Why? Should I?”

The shadow stared at Emile with dark eyes. “Yes. You should.”

Emile leaned forwards until her face was pressed against the barrier separating the two of them. “Who are you?”

“I’m Bartemius. Bartemius Crouch Junior.”

“Barty… “

The shadow reeled back, startled. “You do remember!”

Emile stared at him, overwhelmed by all of the memories flooding through her. “Yes, no, I don’t know!”

“Hey, it’s ok,” the shadow murmured, pressing against the other side of the barrier. “I’m here to help you. It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me… and after everything I’ve done to you.”

* * *

They found Lee in the room with Emile, one hand clutching her limp hand and the other wrapped around the hazel wand. He had taken to carrying the wand around with him at all times, occasionally and quite annoyingly spacing out as he twirled the slender wood between his fingers.

“Lee!” Ginny rushed towards him, looking from him to Emile and back again. “Has anything changed since you got here?”

“No.”

Lee’s eyes didn’t leave Emile’s face for a heartbeat. 

“That’s ok, we’ve got a few idea’s of how we might be able to wake her up,” Ginny unrolled the list they had made and stuck it in front of Lee.

He skimmed it over quickly. “I like the last three, who came up with them?”

“I came up with the last two,” Ginny squinted at the list. “I think Fred came up with the other?”

“We aren’t giving up on her, Lee,” George said quietly from where he sat in the corner of the room. 

“Really, George?” Fred turned to his brother. “Because it feels like you already have.”

George snapped his head around and glared at his twin. “Excuse me?”

“Fred didn’t mean to say that so harshly,” Ginny jumped in. “But you could be a bit more optimistic about the situation. You’ve shot down every idea we’ve had.”

“Oh, enlighten me, Ginny. How am I supposed to be optimistic about the current situation?”

Ginny gave an exasperated sigh. “Honestly George, you can be as stubborn as a mule. Emile’s here, she’s alive. It’s a major improvement to yesterday, when we knew where she was but thought she was dead, and to a few weeks ago when we didn’t know where she was at all.”

“She isn’t here, Ginny. Not really.”

Lee stood up from Emile’s bedside, laying her hand down carefully before turning to George. Fred and Ginny backed away as the tall, dark skinned male walked over to his friend and punched him across the jaw

“Shut the fuck up.”

With that, Lee turned around and swept out of the room towards the kitchen where Kingsley was waiting for them, Fred and Ginny in tow.

George stood up, gingerly rubbing his jaw. He knew he deserved that. He had good intentions to follow the trio, but ended up sitting in Lee’s spot, stroking Emile’s damaged blonde hair. Here and there streaks of blue still showed, but they were disappearing quickly.

“If you were awake, you could help us with Potterwatch,” he said with a small smile. “When we first started doing it, Kingsley would sometimes leave me, Lee, and Fred alone for a bit. You can imagine how well that went.” George let out a small laugh. 

The face before him remained unchanged.

“Mom says I’ve grown taller this past year. Fred has too, of course. Oh, and I lost an ear. But you probably already know that. At least, Bartemius does.”

George stopped talking as he watched Emile’s face, still and unchanged. He had realized something.

“This is what it felt like, didn’t it? When Bartemius had blocked himself away from you? You wanted to talk to him so badly, I couldn’t understand at first, but now I do. I’m so sorry we were so unempathetic. When you come back to us, I promise to do better.” 

George stood up from the bedside and headed towards the door, pausing at the entrance to look back.

“Just, make sure to come back. I know Ginny misses you. Lee misses you. Even Fred misses you.”

George paused for a moment, keeping the door open a crack.

“And I miss you too.”

* * *

“So, the memories I have, not all of them are mine?”

The shadow named Bartemius nodded.

Emile blinked at him, confused. “I still don’t understand how that works.”

“I put a bit of my soul inside you. With a part of me come my memories.”

“And… and the part you put in me was the teenage part of you?”

“Correct.”

Emile stared at Bartemius. “How did you manage to get so specific?”

He laughed for the first time. It surprised Emile, a part of her was sure she’d never heard him laugh before.

“I don’t know. I was confused, before… before…”

Emile smiled at Bartemius. “Well, a part of me likes seeing you face to face.”

“So, a part of you remembers me?”

“It must. I don’t know how I could be so comfortable with you if it didn’t.”

“There you two are.”

The reflection of Emile floated up to the two of them. 

“I can’t believe the size of this place, and it’s all filled with this awful smoke. How’s it going over here?”

“A part of her remembers me,” Bartemius said giddily.

“Well, we wouldn’t want her to forget you,” the reflection said dryly, rolling her eyes before turning to Emile. “Listen, I know you don’t want to hear this, but you can’t just remember the happier aspects of your life. You’ve got to remember the sad ones too.”

“If I get a chance to re-remember my life, why wouldn’t I want to forget the sad parts?” Emile frowned at the reflection.

“Because you only get two choices. Remember everything, or end everything.”

Emile gawked at the reflection. “End everything? You mean, die?”

“No!” Bartemius grabbed the reflections arm. “No, please, there’s got to be something we can do. I can’t continue doing this. I need you, er, her.”

“Oh, don’t you worry Bartemius,” the reflection turned to him. “If she decides to die we all go with her.”

“What can we do?” Bartemius gasped, staring at the reflections heterochromatic eyes.

“I know that you don’t want to hear this, but she has to remember the dead.”

Emile flinched. Dead, why the dead? Why would anyone want to remember the dead? It’s so much easier to forget.

“It’s easy to forget, but it’s hard to accept.”

Emile backed away from the reflection, whose eyes were still locked with the shadows. The reflection turned to Emile, her eyes sad.

“I know it sucks, and I know you don’t want to, but you’ve got to remember the dead. You’ve got to remember your grandfather.”

In a flash, Emile was back in the storm shaken cabin, her grandfather lying in his sick bed before her. The reflections voice cut through the noise of the storm like a knife.

“You’ve got to remember Cedric.”

Surrounded by screams, Emile kneeled on the grass with her aunt and uncle, sobbing over Cedric’s broken and battered body. 

“No, please.”

The reflections voice rang over the screams of the crowd.

“You’ve got to remember your father.”

Her father was singing in the car as the drove through the countryside. Her father was laughing with Uncle Amos as he helped rebuild the stables after a storm. Her father was yelling at nothing with a bottle clutched in his hand.

“No more,” Emile cried, but there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t even mentally prepare herself for her father’s body, stiff and pale. Murdered by Bartemius Crouch Junior.

“I SAID NO MORE.”

* * *

Lee jumped up at the table, knocking over his microphone. 

“Sit down,” Fred muttered as Kingsley continued talking, but cast the two of them a questioning look.

“The wand, it’s cold,” Lee whispered fervently across the table.

“Cold?” George looked at him worriedly. Even Kingsley had stopped talking.

The three boys looked over at the Auror.

“Go to her,” he whispered. “I’ll finish up here.”

The three boys thanked him before rushing out of the room, shoving each other to get there first.

“What do you mean, that wands cold?” George demanded once they got out of earshot of the dining room.

“Take it!” Lee shoved the wand into George’s hand. The redheads face grew pale and he looked up at his brother.

“Fred, go get mom. Now.”

Fred did as he was told and ran off without question, the look on his brothers face scaring him.

“What did you say to her, after we all left?” Lee demanded as the neared the door.

“I only said I missed her!” George bristled. “What do you think I said? ‘I hope you die’?!”

Lee didn’t respond, he simply glared at George as the two of them burst into Emile’s room.

“Quick, find a pulse,” Lee instructed. 

George was too worried to object to being ordered around. He grabbed Emile’s hand and placed his fingers along her wrist. Lee had brushed aside Emile’s damaged hair and was searching for a pulse on her neck.

“Do you have anything?” Lee asked anxiously.

“No!” George yelped worriedly.

“Out of my way! Everyone out of the room!”

The two boys jumped back as Molly Weasley burst into the bedroom, wand in one hand and medical kit in the other.

“She doesn’t have a pulse!” George cried out as soon as his mother reached the bed.

“She will soon,” Mrs. Weasley vowed, kicking the boys out of the room. “Ginny, you get in here. I need another woman's help. It’s been awhile since I’ve head to restart someone’s heart, so let’s hope this works.”

Ginny took a deep breath before closing the bedroom door and helping her mother take off Emile’s shirt. They exchanged scared looks, Ginny holding her mother’s hand.

“Save her,” Ginny whispered. “George loves her.”

“I know dear. I’ll try. You know I will.”

Outside the room Fred, George, and Lee held hands for the first time since they were first years, each quietly praying to a god they didn’t believe in.


	87. See Through Angels Eyes

* * *

 

“I did that?”

“You did that.”

Emile stared around at the fog, which had turned a disturbing shade of grey. The same color of clouds before a storm. Dark grey hues crossed with blues and greens.

“You can’t keep everything out,” the reflection warned as Emile tried to float away. “You’ll die if you do.”

Just a few minutes ago Emile had blacked out, her haven flashing before her eyes as she curled up into a ball. Bartemius said that she had begun to flicker, and they were able to see through her form. Even now as Emile looked at her hand she could see her shoes through them, and beyond that the spiraling fog.

“Your lucky someone was there to restart your heart,” Bartemius fretted as Emile waved her hands in front of her face, shocked at how transparent they were.

“This color reminds me of a feather I once saw,” Emile mused as she twirled her hand through the fog, watching it envelop her hand in the stormy hues. 

“Yes, a thunderbird feather,” the reflection commented from where it was floating lazily, attempting to do a backflip.

“Will you two focus?” Bartemius snapped. “We don’t have much longer. Her body’s too weak to continue in an unconscious state.”

The reflection grumbled, stuck upside down with its arms crossed. “We can’t do anything if she doesn’t want to remember.”

“I do,” Emile objected.

“All of it?” the reflection countered, rolling its eyes and scoffing. “Please, if you did we wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Maybe I don’t want to remember because you’re not helping me want to? Ever thought of that?” Emile scoffed, crossing her arms and turning away from the reflection.

“I’m not going to sugarcoat your life for you!” The reflection cried out, throwing its hands forward and spinning back into a standing position.

“Maybe you just need to think of the good things you get to return to,” Bartemius said quietly, floating over to the barrier. “Your friends and the people that care about you.”

* * *

“Lee, that’s actually brilliant,” Fred stared at his friend, almost dropping the spoonful of baked beans he had been waving under Emile’s nose.

“We have it in our room!” George cried out excitedly, jumping up from the corner where he was sitting with a plate of tiramisu.

“I’ll get it!” Ginny said excitedly, sprinting towards the door.

“No, let George do it,” Lee called after her. “He can actually do magic outside of school, so it will be easier for him to float it down here.”

Ginny grumbled as she came back into the room, elbowing her brother as he slid past her out of the room.

“Do you think it could work?” Fred whispered to Lee as Ginny plopped down at the end of Emile’s bed, loudly chewing a stick of spearmint gum.

“It seems like it could,” Lee whispered back. “We’re running out of ideas. How can we help her?”

“We could try coming in one by one and being brutally honest about how we feel about her,” Ginny suggested between chomps, filling the air with the sharp smell of mint.

“That sounds a bit harsh,” Fred said with an eye roll.

“Your hesitance says you’ve got something unkind to say,” Ginny teased.

“Well, being brutally honest usually insinuates that you’re going to say something mean,” Lee said with a smirk. “Like if I was to say I don’t like how you do your eyeliner—”

“Hey!” Ginny sat up in bed, eyes narrowed.

“—or tell Fred I hate his dragonskin suit—”

Fred scoffed and put his hand over his mouth. 

“—or tell George that—” Lee broke himself off, shaking his head. “Nevermind.”

“Tell me what?” George asked as he came into the room floating a potted tree in front of him.

“That that took you longer than it should have,” Lee snapped, whipping out his own wand and moving the nightstand away from next to the bed. “Ginny, get off of the bed.”

Ginny grumbled, still smacking the gum as she clambered off of the bed. She watched from the side as George floated the potted tree down to where the nightstand had once been, the leaves rustling as the pot touched down on the ground. 

“Ok, the father-plant is here,” Fred crossed his arms as he looked from the plant to Emile’s sleeping figure and back. “Now what?”

“I didn’t think of that,” Lee admitted.

“So what, we wait for the tree to pollinate?” Ginny scoffed, still chewing the gum. “I liked my idea.”

“What idea?” George asked with a frown.

“To come in one by one and be brutally honest,” Fred explained to his brother.

“That sounds a bit harsh,” George objected. 

“And that sounds like you’re hiding some negative feelings from her,” Ginny shot back, crossing her arms.

George glared at his sister, standing up from the chair he had been sitting in. “Let’s give it a go.”

* * *

“One, two, and three!”

On Bartemius’s count both Emile and the reflection lurched backwards, attempting to complete as many backflips as they could while Bartemius kept count.

“Now don’t spin too much, we don’t want either of you to throw up,” Bartemius cautioned as Emile locked eyes with the reflection as they spun upwards a second time.

“Oh stop it you,” the reflection chuckled as Emile found herself upside down again.

“Yeah, you’re taking all the fun out of this,” Emile grinned as she spun back upwards.

“You’re both tied with five,” Bartemius sighed from behind her.

“I feel like I’m losing momentum,” Emile fret aloud as she completed another spin.

“I was just about to say the same thing,” the reflection grinned as the two of them locked eyes again.

“It’s almost as if you two are-”

“Identical?” the two of them interrupted Bartemius as they stopped spinning, hovering upright.

“Almost,” Bartemius looked at Emile, his eyes growing wide. “Blimey, your hairs changing.”

“What?!” Emile gasped reaching over to pull a strand of her hair into her line of vision. Sure enough, the long blonde hair had disappeared. Instead, the slightly transparent strand had turned the same raggedly chopped blonde and blue as the reflections.

“It’s working!” The reflection cheered, high fiving Bartemius.

“Yes,” Emile said quietly, dropping the hair. “Brilliant.”

A whisper throughout the air made Emile’s heart rate fall. The reflection and Bartemius weren’t whispering amongst each other, so it couldn’t have been one of them. 

“Where are you going?” Bartemius called after Emile as she floated away from them.

“Hush!” Emile called back, straining her ears as she tried to follow the sound of the voice. It was almost familiar.

* * *

“And I guess that's a recap of how long I’ve known you. I mean, you encouraged me to tell Harry I like him back in my second year so I guess that's good? I mean, it wasn’t really turning out that well, he was into, you know, Cho Chang and all that. And getting together when an evil wizard’s hunting you isn’t a good idea. And now he’s out in the middle of nowhere hunting for some way to defeat you-know-who…”

Ginny paused, staring down at the figure in front of her. “Is this working? I wish you could give me a sign. But it’s ok if you don’t react for me, I can understand that. But please react in some way to George or, or Lee. Preferably George. You’d make a cool sister in law.”

The beaten figure of Emile remained dormant.

“You’re looking a lot better than when you got here,” Ginny said encouragingly, swinging her legs off the side of the bed. “There were bruises all over your arms and neck. But they’re mostly faded now, thanks to mom’s salve. Well, technically it’s an invention of Fred’s. They needed a good bruise remover for when they were testing products. Thankfully it works on, you know, cruciatus curse after effects.”

Ginny paused, biting her lip. “Probably shouldn’t bring that up, huh?”

There was no reaction from the body in front of her. 

“This isn’t you,” Ginny sighed. “It may be your body, but it’s not Emile. Emile laughed and teased and really enjoyed hugs. She loved cooking and loved showing off that incredible wandless magic.”

The body lay in bed, motionless.

Ginny sighed, wiping her eyes self consciously. “Just, come back to us.”

* * *

“WHERE DID YOU GO?”

Emile sighed, floating back to the reflection and Bartemius. “Listen, I can hear a voice. And I’m trying to figure out what it’s saying. So I’d appreciate it if you two kept the hubub down a few decibels.”

“What do you mean, two?”

Emile stared at Bartemius as he floated closer to her, frowning.

“Wh-where did the reflection go? And what happened to the barrier?”

“Everything's falling apart,” Bartemius whispered. “And she’s gone, or she’s you. Are you her? Are you Emile?”

“Of course I’m Emile!” Emile snapped. “Bartemius, get a hold of yourself.”

“Oh, you are Emile,” he smirked, following her as she floated back through the mist.

“I’m trying to hear something,” Emile whispered. “Can’t you hear the talking?”

“Nope,” Bartemius stated, taking Emile hand. “Oh, now I can. I can’t hear what you hear unless, you know, I’m connected with you.”

“Is that the only thing holding me back from being, alive?” Emile asked with a frown.

“Maybe,” Bartemius shrugged. “Let’s look for this voice of yours.”

* * *

“This is weird. It’s only been one minute though; I can’t go back out. Ginny was in here for eight minutes. I’ll never hear the end of it if I’m not here for at least five.”

Fred sighed as he paced the floor in the small room. “This is weird, isn’t it? Talking to a dead body? I mean, you’re not dead. I hope you’re getting better. But you never cared too much about what I thought. It was mainly you and George. But that’s alright, because I guess I was more into Angelina than you anyways.”

With a wince Fred jumped and ran out of the room.

“Where are you going?!” Ginny shrieked after him as he ran down the hall.

“I didn’t write to Angelina yet!” He yelled back.

“Can’t this wait?!” Ginny groaned.

“No!” Fred's shout drifted back down the hall as his footsteps sounded on the stairs. Not a few seconds later Aunt Muriel’s yells filled the air, drifting downstairs to where they were standing.

“Alright, Lee, you’re in next,” Ginny chirped, holding the door open.

“Wait, why does Lee get to go next?” George objected, stepping in front of the door. “I always go after Fred.”

“I’d rather go last, you can go ahead,” Lee shrugged. 

“Why would you want to go last?” Ginny scoffed from the doorway.

“Because people who go last are usually more likely to be remembered,” Lee smirked, leaning against the wall. “Emile told me that.”

“Well, now I want to go last,” George frowned, crossing her arms. 

“You’re acting like children,” Ginny snapped, stepping in between them. “Here, rock paper scissors, best out of three.”

Lee turned to George, who nodded back to him.

“Wait!” Lee stopped as George opened his mouth to start. “Rock, paper, scissors? Or rock, paper, scissors, shoot?”

“Rock, paper, scissors, shoot,” George snorted with an eye roll. “Always do shoot.”

“On shoot or after shoot?” 

Ginny groaned and put her hand over her eyes.

* * *

“And I didn’t want to do that to you. You understood. There was no other choice. It was either that or be the reason everyone around you dies.”

“Well, with odds like those it would be hard not to understand.”

Bartemius grinned at Emile. She grinned back.

“You’ve got to do something about that hair,” he added as an afterthought.

“Yeah I was thinking of going brunette?” Emile looked at him, floating with her legs crossed. “Not a dark brunette, more of a lighter one, like-”

“Did you hear something?” Bartemius jerked his head to the side, staring off into the fog.

“Nope,” Emile tilted her head to the side, groaning as she began spinning to the side. “How much longer do I have to stay here?”

“Are you ready to go back?” Bartemius grinned hopefully. 

“I think I am,” Emile said quietly, looking around. “But how do we get out of here?”

“Can you hear that voice?” Bartemius asked again.

“Yes, I can hear that voice,” Emile sighed. “I don’t know where it’s coming from.”

“Don’t give up,” Bartemius encouraged, floating in a circle around Emile.

“I haven’t given up,” Emile said hotly, crossing her arms where she was stuck upside down. “I just don’t know where to start.”

“Start following that whisper,” Bartemius snapped, turning sideways till he was floating upside down with Emile. 

Emile sighed. “What will that do?”

“It might help clear the fog.”

* * *

“DAMNIT GEORGE. HOW HARD IS IT TO THROW ON SHOOT???”

George glared at his little sister. “I’D LIKE TO SEE YOU DO BETTER.”

“I don’t HAVE to try better,” Ginny said, leaning up until she was almost at eye level with George. “BECAUSE I WAS THE FIRST ONE TO GO IN AND TALK.”

“George, since you’re the one messing up why don’t you just go first?” Lee sighed, rubbing his temples with one hand.

“Fine,” George threw his hands up in the air, walking towards the door. “You win, Lee.”

“Technically we were tied,” Lee said somewhat kindly from where he was sitting on the floor.

“Whatever,” George grumbled, opening the door to Emile’s room slowly and stepping inside.

The door clicked shut behind him.

* * *

“My name is Emile, it rhymes with lily. It also rhymes with silly. It also rhymes with, shmilly.”

“We should be writing this down,” Bartemius chuckled, ceasing his poor beatboxing for a moment.

“It’s actually terrible,” Emile grinned looking at Bartemius. If they were lucky she’d never get the chance to look at him in whole until she died, as awful as that sounded.

Bartemius stared back at her, and they stayed like that for a while, floating and looking into each other's eyes. 

“Part of me does just want to end it,” Emile admitted quietly, staring at the figure of Bartemius.

He swallowed visible, his manly adams apple bouncing before he opened his mouth to respond. But only a small wheeze came out.

“Bartemius?” Emile lunged forward, reaching out for her friend. Her hand went directly through the shadow of a man as the shadow faded away, hazel eyes staying behind for a split second longer to stare into Emile’s eyes.

“Bartemius?!”Emile cried out, tears forming in her eyes. “Bartemius! Where are you?”

**_Here!_ **

**Oh…**

**_Are you crying?_ **

**No.**

**_Of course not._ **

**Shut up.**

**_Haha. So where are we going now?_ **

**I’m not sure… the voice is gone.**

**_Let’s just listen_ ** **.**

* * *

George stood at the foot of her bed, staring down at Emile in silence. There she was. But what was she without her laugh, her smile? He loved that smile, but it’s been so rare these past few years. Not since Bartemius had become a part of her. 

Sometimes you could catch Em smiling or chuckling to herself, eyes distant as she carried on conversations no one else could hear. George always felt hot at these times. How could Bartemius manage to bring a smile to her face when he, and infamous hilarious Weasley twin, could not? If he wasn’t funny, then what was he? 

“I’m jealous,” George whispered, blinking down at Emile’s body. “Damnit Em, is that what you want to hear? I’m jealous and I always have been. You and Lee were obviously so close, I wanted to be that close to someone. I thought maybe we could be together, but you keep going back to Lee. What am I doing wrong? Is it because I left you behind in seventh year?”

The body remained motionless, and George let out a small sob as he covered his face with his hands. 

“I just don’t want to be alone.”

* * *

“There it is!” Emile gasped, straining her ears to hear the quiet voice echoing throughout the fog. 

“I just don’t want to be alone,” it whispered, over and over again.

**_Let’s go, before it disappears!_ **

Emile darted upward, following the sound of the voice. It grew louder, and stronger, and the fog started to clear away as Emile let out a long repressed grin. 

It vanished within seconds.

In front of her, hovering in the fog, were two doors. One, was unknown to her. It was large and ornate, black with silver embedded into it. The other was the familiar wooden door to the Burrow, emitting a warm light from behind it.

**Well, this is an obvious choice.**

**_But, what does it mean?_ **

**I doubt it means anything.**

**_The door on the left is one from Malfoy Manor. It won’t lead to anywhere nice._ **

**There’s nowhere I’d rather be than the Burrow.**

**_With George?_ **

**With friends.**

* * *

George stood up from where he was curled on the floor, shivering. Lee was watching him from the doorway, frowning.

“You alright, mate?” He mused, kneeling down next to George.

“No,” George hissed, standing up and rushing out of the room. His heel clipped the edge of the pot containing the plant of Emile’s father, causing the entire tree to shake. 

Lee ran after George, Ginny coming into the room in their place with a confused shrug.

A single leaf fell from the tree and landed, gently, on the bridge of Emile’s nose. She let out a large sneeze that shook her entire body, and caused Ginny to fall to the ground. The leaf floated down to the ground as the small ginger shrieked and threw her arms around Emile. Emile laughed as best as she could, and the two of them quickly began crying.

“What the hell is going on in here?” George bellowed as he ran into the room.

“Happy tears, I s-s-swear,” Emile blubbered hoarsely, smiling faintly at the redhead.

He weakly smiled back.


	88. Awakening

“Who would have thought that all it took was a leaf?” Ginny mused as she sat cross legged on Emile’s bed, painting her toenails. 

Emile grinned at the sixth year. Mrs. Weasley had forced her to remain in bed after her attempt to walk to the restroom ended up with Emile sprawled on the floor with a concussion from slamming her head into the wall. Ginny had just brought her dinner, and was keeping busy in Emile’s room as Lee, the twins, and Kingsley conducted their daily Potterwatch.

“Aren’t you going to eat those dinner rolls?” the young ginger pressed as Emile raised a shaky spoon of tomato soup to her mouth. “I made them. First time cooking, too. Aunt Muriel says never again, I made too much of a mess in her kitchen. I shame our family with my inability to cook.”

“Maybe you can get your husband to cook when you're older,” Emile teased once she had swallowed her spoonful of soup.

“Harry’s a good cook,” Ginny said with a sly grin. 

“Marry him,” Emile responded immediately.

“Marry who?”

George strode into the room with Fred and Lee, the three of them holding microphones. 

“I don’t want to be part of your show,” Emile whispered to them, covering up George’s microphone with her hand.

“We just want to ask you one question,” Lee whispered fervently, batting his eyelashes. “Please?”

Emile couldn’t keep from grinning as she took her hand off of the microphone, leaning back against the bedframe with a sigh.

“And here we are folks in the humble bedroom of a fellow listener and opposer of the dark lord. Tell us, Mountain-” Lee broke off as Emile choked on a spoonful of soup. “Excuse us folks, Mountains choking on her dinner.”

“I’m fine,” Emile coughed out. “What would you like to ask me?”

“We wanted to know if you have any messages for the Death Eaters who might be looking for you,” Fred said excitedly, sticking his microphones into Emile’s face.

“I do indeed,” Emile smiled, taking the microphone from Fred. “First off, I’m alive, bitches. Second off, fuck you.”

“Mountain, we would like to remind you that we have younger viewers amongst our audience,” George said, grinning at her as Fred took back his microphone. 

“Oh for Merlin’s sake. Leave, you three,” Ginny snapped, holding up a nail file threateningly.

The three boys exited the room into the hallway, where Emile saw a dark faced Kingsley Shacklebolt waiting for them as they wrapped up the radio show.

“I can’t believe those three,” Ginny sighed. “A radio show, of all things.”

“They’re good at it,” Emile grinned, looking at Lee through the slightly open doorway.

Ginny noticed, and wiggled her eyebrows at Emile as Lee came back into the room, microphone gone. Emile felt her cheeks grow warm as Lee sat down in the chair next to her and Ginny let out a giggle.

“So, how are we doing?” Lee asked with a pointed look at Emile. 

“Oh, just dandy,” Ginny smiled. “Doesn’t she look great?”

“Fleur did my hair after lunch,” Emile smiled. “I like the Weasley red, but I wanted to try out brunette for a bit.” 

A wisp of her now poop-brown hair drifted in front of her glasses, and Emile tucked it back self consciously. Her hair had grown out, surprisingly enough, even if the tips would always remain damaged.

“I’m just glad you’re alright,” Lee smiled, leaning forward to tuck the stray hair behind her ear. “I don’t care what hair color you have, you look great.”

Emile felt her face grow warm again as Ginny stood up, jumping off of the bed with a wicked grin. “I’m going to go help mom do the dishes. Talk later, Em.”

“Bye, Gin,” Emile grumbled as the ginger giggled and dashed out of the room.

“That was a bit odd,” Lee commented as Emile sank lower into the bed, yawning. “You alright?”

“I’m just tired,” Emile said with a small smile up at him. “Where did the twins go?”

“They went to help Kingsley put away the microphones and radio setup before Mrs. Weasley goes beserk about the mess,” Lee smiled. “Again.”

“What are you guys doing to that poor woman?” Emile laughed.

Lee shrugged, smiling down at her. “Oh, Lupin might drop in later.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Tonks was really worried about you. They said that as soon as you wake up we had to send a message. Lupin’s going to bring pictures of Teddy.”

“Oh,” Emile grinned. “Brilliant. I can’t wait to see little Teddy Lupin.”

“Yeah?” Lee smiled at her. “They named Harry godfather.”

“That squirt isn’t even done with school,” Emile scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Who, Ginny?”

George walked into the room, Fred in tow. 

“No, Harry,” Lee explained. “I told her how he was named Teddy’s godfather.”

“Oh, right,” George gave a small smile. “I thought you might have been talking about Ginny.”

“I don’t have anything bad to say about your sister,” Emile smiled. 

“Speaking of Harry, did you guys hear about Bill’s latest message?” Fred commented, drawing everyone’s attention to a piece of paper in his hands.

“What did he say?” Emile asked, sitting back up in bed. 

Fred cleared his throat. “It says, and I quote, ‘Harry’s planning something with Griphook, the goblin from Gringotts that he saved. They plan on leaving sometime within the next week. I’ll try to talk him out of it, but you know Harry. He won’t listen to reason if he’s set on doing something.’”

“Wow, Bill,” Emile shook her head. “Rude.”

“But true,” George grinned at Emile, and she smiled back. 

Lee stiffened next to her.

“We’ll just have to see what happens with that boy,” Emile said quickly, sitting up a bit straighter. “Hey Lee, pass me another pillow, will you?”

“Get it yourself,” Lee teased, lifting her hand up. “You can do wandless magic, lazy bum.”

Emile felt her smile drop from her face. “I haven’t been able to do any magic since I woke up.”

“You should talk to Ollivander,” George suggested lightly, taking Emile’s hand.

“Someone should, before Aunt Muriel talks him to death,” Fred grinned. 

“Maybe tomorrow,” Emile said quietly, drawing her hand away as Lee handed her a pillow. 

“That’s what you said yesterday,” George said bluntly, a frown on his face. 

“Drop it, you two.”

Emile turned to Lee, surprised to see him frowning at the twins. 

George opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a shout from down the hall.

“Fred! George! Lupins here!”

Fred jumped up and left the room in a sprint, followed more slowly by George. The redhead cast a worried look back at Emile in the doorway before following his brother down the hall.

“You know, they have a point.”

Emile turned to Lee. “About Ollivander?”

He nodded. “He might be able to help you get over this roadblock.”

“Magic-block.”

“Magic-roadblock.”

Emile smiled at Lee for a moment, her smile falling from her face. “Lee, I can hardly stand up.”

Lee took one of her hands, standing up. “Let us help you with that.”

“Lee,” Emile groaned as he pulled the covers off of her pajama clad legs.

“Em,” He groaned back in a mockingly high pitched voice as he pulled on her arm.

“I’m going to fall onto the bed!” Emile yelled, laughing as Lee began to pull her forward.

“Not if you put your feet onto the ground!” He called back with a grin.

Seeing as she had no choice, Emile used her other arm to push her legs off the bed, wiggling her toes as they touched the cold ground. Seeing this, Lee grabbed her other arm and tugged her upwards, holding them steady as she swayed where she stood, her legs trembling with the effort of holding her up. Seeing that, Lee dropped one of Emile’s arms and draped the other over his shoulders, wrapping one of his arms around her waist.

“You steady?” He asked as her fingers tightened around his shoulder.

“I think so?”

“Good,” Lee smiled. “Now, take a step forward.”

Emile willed her leg to move forward, but nothing happened.

“I can’t,” she choked out.

“Just put one foot in front of the other,” Lee sang  with a smile on his face.

“And soon you’ll be walking cross the floor,” Emile feebly sang back, gasping in pain as Lee knocked out on of her legs from under her, and she stumbled forward.

“Just put one foot in front of the other,” Lee repeated with a wicked grin.

“And soon you’ll be walking out the door,” Emile grinned back, taking a wobbly step with the leg that Lee was too far away to knock over. It hurt so much, but she couldn’t tell Lee that. She didn’t want him to worry more.

Slowly, the two of them made their way out of the room and down the hall, Lee catching Emile as she stumbled a few times. The pain was bringing tears to her eyes, but Emile blinked them away as best as she could.

At the end of the hallway they entered the dining room, where Mrs. Weasley was serving tea to Lupin, the twins, and her husband. Mrs. Weasley let out a shriek as she caught sight of Emile, dropping the teapot in surprise. It almost fell onto the floor, but was saved at the last second by Lupin.

“You know, Mrs. Weasley,” Emile said as she uncovered one of her ears with her spare hand, “if this is going to become our regular greeting I think I’m going to need hearing aids at an incredibly young age.”

Molly Weasley let out a breathy chuckle, sitting down in one of the chairs and fanning herself with her hands as Lupin and the twins laughed. Lee sat Emile down at the table across from George and next to Lupin before sitting down on her other side.

“You seem to be doing better than you were last time I visited,” Lupin said with a grin.

“This is my first time getting out of bed,” Emile panted, out of breath. 

Lupin laughed, grabbing a small pile from next to Mrs. Weasley’s plate and passing it to Emile. 

“Look here, these are pictures of Teddy,” He said with a smile. 

Emile flipped through the pile of polaroids, laughing when she came across one with both Teddy and Tonks staring at each other with pig noses. 

“I see he takes after his mother,” she said with a smile as she handed the pictures back to Lupin.

His smile faltered a little and his eyes grew dark. “Yes, we aren’t sure what traits he has from me. Yet.” 

The group nodded, Mrs. Weasley magically pouring Lee and Emile cups of tea in the silence that dragged on.

“So, Mr. Weasley,” Emile said with a smile as she blew on her steaming cup. “What’s the news in the ministry?”

Arthur Weasley nodded. “Well, it’s fallen. There is no ministry. The new Minister of Magic is under an Imperius curse and is working for Voldemort—”

“Do you remember anything from when Bartemius took over?” Fred interrupted his father, causing the entire table to glare at him. “What? Because if she does than she would already know all this.”

“I remember bits and pieces,” Emile admitted quietly, staring down at the steam rising from the tea, taking note of how it twirled and vanished into the air. “I remember, just before the wedding, I managed to send George a message via patronus. I remember snapping my wand. I remember visiting Snape at Hogwarts.”

Lee was the first to break the silence that followed, reaching over to place his hand on top of Emile’s. “You know, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. And no one’s going to make you,” he added with a pointed look at Fred as the ginger opened his mouth.

Emile couldn’t help but smile as Lee squeezed her hand. “No, it’s alright. I’ll answer any questions you guys have. I want to be useful.”

Lupin was the first to break the silence that followed. “If you all wouldn’t mind, I would very much like to talk to Emile alone.”

“Yes, I very much need to finish cleaning up after dinner,” Mrs. Weasley said abruptly. “Fred, George, you two come help.”

Mr. Weasley stood up as the twins followed their mother, George frowning back at Lee as he swept out of the dining room.

“Lee,” Arthur Weasley turned to the male, “help me take tea up to Muriel and Ollivander. The older man wanted to talk to you about some things, and he also wants to get a package through to Bill’s.”

“Will do, Mr. Weasley,” Lee sighed, following the man out of the room.

Emile and Lupin sat in silence for a moment, Lupin watching as Emile shakily brought up the cup of tea to her lips, taking a long sip.

“Tonks will be relieved to hear you’re doing a lot better,” he said as she placed the cup back on the table. 

“That’s good,” Emile smiled. “I’m relieved to hear Tonks is doing alright. I was worried something might happen to you guys during the wedding.”

“Oh, no,” Lupins smile faltered. “We were amongst the first to disapparate. But it was a lovely wedding up until then. You would have enjoyed it.”

“That’s good to know,” Emile said dryly. “That’s two weddings I’ve missed out on.”

“Yes, but you didn’t miss anything at ours,” Lupin smiled. “All we had at ours were Tonks parents and a ministry member to make it official.”

“Yes, because I was too busy being tortured until Bartemius had no choice but to take over my body, otherwise both of us would have died.”

Lupin stared at Emile, his mouth in a straight line. “You remember everything.”

“I remember most things,” Emile said with a cruel laugh.

Lupin shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

Emile smiled and put a hand on top of Lupins. “Bartemius received a prophecy when he was younger that one day he’d be stuck taking over someone’s body in order to save the people that someone cares about.”

Lupin stared at her, shocked. “And, where is Bartemius? Now?”

Emile sighed. “He’s still a part of me. I’m blocking him out for the time being. Well, until I can at least walk again. Say, any chance you have a muggle treadmill?”

“A what?”

“Nevermind.”

Lupin smiled. “Well, you seem to be in good hands.”

“I think I am,” Emile smiled, yawning. “Blimey, I’ve been sleeping for a while, why am I still so tired?”

“It’s probably a side affect of being tortured and forced to do evil acts against your will,” Lupin stated in a dramatic and childish voice, taking a sip of his tea.

A loud clang behind them caused them to turn around. Mrs. Weasley was standing in the entrance to the dining room, picking up a tray off of the ground.

“So sorry, dears,” she fret as she carried the tray over to the table. “I just came to collect the last of the dishes-”

“And to check up on the conversation,” Emile teased with a smile as Molly Weasley began collecting empty tea cups.

“You know me very well,” Molly smiled. “I just wanted to make sure no one was crying, or being emotionally traumatized.”

“I’m fine, Mrs. Weasley,” Emile smiled. “Really.”

Molly Weasley nodded and gave Lupin a pointed look.

“Yes, well, I’d better get back to Tonks,” he said, standing up quickly and shaking Emile’s hand. “I do hope that next time I come visit you’ll be back on your own feet.”

“I do too. Give Tonks my love!” Emile called after Remus as he swept out of the room, nodding to Lee as he ran into him outside the entrance.

“There you are, Lee,” Molly Weasley chirped. “Will you help Emile back to her room?”

“I just got here,” Emile complained, yawning again. “Can’t I sit here for a few more minutes?”

Molly Weasley sighed. “Alright, but lights out is at ten. Lee, make certain she’s comfortable. I’m turning in early tonight.”

With that Molly Weasley left the room, taking the empty tea cups with her. A half-filled pot of tea still sat on the table, along with Lee and Emile’s cups.

“Will you fill my cup up?” Emile bat her eyelashes at Lee.

“What will I get out of it?” he teased, leaning back in a chair next to Emile.

“The gratitude that comes out of knowing I asked you to do it so that you won’t have to later clean up a spill,” Emile smiled.

“Is that all?” Lee pouted, reaching over to fill Emile’s cup.

“I would think that’s more than enough,” Emile said with an eye roll, lifting the cup up to her lips to take a sip. “I don’t want to keep you from going back to your apartment though, we can go back to my room in a moment.”

“Oh, I don’t sleep in the apartment anymore,” Lee said a bit sheepishly. “I’ve been sleeping on the sofa since they brought you here.”

Emile stared at Lee, touched. She could feel her cheeks growing warm. “The sofa can’t be comfortable.”

“I was in a bed until Ollivander was moved here,” Lee shrugged. “And I don’t mind too much. The room I was in was next to Muriel’s, and she snores an awful lot.”

“Has Ollivander complained?”

Lee shook his head. “He’s just deaf enough to not hear the snoring, but not so deaf that you have to yell every word you say.”

Emile took another shaky sip of her tea. “And, how is he doing?”

“A lot better,” Lee smiled kindly. “He was asking about you. I told him we’d come visit tomorrow.”

“I won’t be ready to climb stairs by tomorrow,” Emile scoffed. “I can’t even walk on my own.”

“I’ll carry you up the stairs,” Lee offered, flexing his muscles. “You think I work out to impress my many adoring Potterwatch fans?”

“I didn’t even know you worked out,” Emile said with an eye roll.

“I don’t,” Lee admitted.

Emile laughed before taking a final sip of tea. “Will you take the cups back to the kitchen?”

“As you wish,” Lee stood up and bowed before whipping out his wand, lifting the teacups and teapot over Emile’s head as he floated them to the kitchen. 

As soon as he left the room Emile pushed her chair as far away from the table as she could stretch her arms out. Placing her hands down on the surface of the table, she pushed herself up, forcing herself to stand. Lifting her hands off the table, Emile slowly began to grin.

“I’m standing. Lee, I’m standing! Ha ha!”

Emile turned her head as the door opened, turning the rest of her body along with her, and falling face first onto the floor as Lee rushed in, streaks of pain shooting up her spine.

“What did you do?” he groaned, helping roll her over and sit her up.

“I’m useless,” Emile groaned, feeling around the floor for her glasses. “I can’t even stand. What use am I to all of you?”

“Hey,” Lee smiled at her, gently sliding her glasses onto her face so that she could see his warm brown eyes staring into her own. “We tried really hard to get you back, there’s no way you’re giving up on us now. We didn’t give up on you.”

“For some reason that makes me feel even worse,” Emile grumbled, but grudgingly allowed Lee to help her up.

Together they stumbled down the darkened hallway, Emile having Lee stop every few feet so that she could look at a picture on the wall.

“How can you not want to look at pictures of baby Fred and George?” Emile teased as they stopped for a fourth time. 

“I’d rather look at pictures of baby you,” Lee grinned back. “You were probably less chubby than these two.”

“You’re out of luck,” Emile said with a smile as they neared her temporary room.”I don’t have any baby photos. The only existing ones were in a photo album in my grandfather's house. Some relative took the album and replaced all the unknown baby pictures with ones in his immediate family.”

“Damn,” Lee grunted as he kicked the bedroom door open.

“Don’t damage Muriel’s house,” Emile scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“I didn’t damage anything,” Lee sniffed back, ignoring the scuff marks decorating the once white door.

Emile smiled as they stepped inside, climbing into the twin bed as Lee helped tucking in the maroon comforter around her tired legs.

“Did anyone water my plant today?” She said hopefully as Lee straightened up.

“Ginny did,” Lee said, smiling down at her. It was impossible to read his vacant expression. After a moment he leaned down, kissing Emile on the forehead.“I bid you goodnight.”

“Holy shit,” Emile whispered, a fluttery feeling in her stomach as Lee left the room, turning off the light and closing the door behind him. She hadn’t been prepared for that. How could he still have feelings for her after all this time? And what about George?

Well, What about George? He wasn’t bad, he just wasn’t Lee. Emile couldn’t imagine a future with George. But could she imagine one with Lee?

Emile shook her head and lay down in bed, staring into the darkness. She couldn’t think of either of them this way. She couldn’t feel about either of them this way. They were at war. Either of them could die. She knew that, so why couldn’t she stop feeling this way?


	89. A Wand for the Weak

The following morning began by following the usual routine that had been established for Emile. Mrs. Weasley woke her up with a hot cup of tea and a salve for her wounds that stung her skin. Afterwards George, Ginny, and Fred came in with breakfast for her as well as themselves, and they all ate in the room. Halfway through, Fred and George would leave to tend to their Aunt Muriel’s breakfast and Lee would come in from tending to Mr. Ollivander.

“He wants to see you today,” was the first thing Lee said as he stepped into the room in nothing but a t-shirt and long pajama bottoms.

“Yes, you told me yesterday,” Emile said with a small smile, looking up at her friend. “Aren’t you cold?”

Lee shrugged. “A bit.”

Emile moved to the side of the bed, throwing the comforter to the side. “Get in here. Mrs Weasley added extra blankets, you could bake a turkey under this.”

Lee smiled but didn’t say anything as he climbed into the bed alongside Emile, tucking the comforter in around the two of them.

As the trio sat talking while Emile finished her tea, Ginny smirking up at Emile from where she sat on the foot of the bed. Everything was calm until Fred and George returned.

“There’s a stick in your hair,” Emile stated to Fred as he sat down in a chair on the side of the room.

“Muriel threw her wooden stirrer at me,” Fred grumbled, running his hand through his ginger hair several times.

George sat down at the end of the bed next to Ginny, staring up at Emile.

“Morning, George,” she said with a smile.

“Good morning,” he responded in an even tone. “How are we feeling today?”

“ _ I’m _ feeling fine,” Emile said a bit sharply. “Bartemius is keeping his tongue to himself.”

“And, you aren’t trying to talk to him, right?” George asked a bit hesitantly.

Emile let out a sigh. “No. I’m not. But if he tries talking to me I won’t be rude.”

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Lee said, keeping eye contact with George as he spoke.

“I kind of do,” Emile sighed again, turning to Lee. “Alright, let’s go see Ollivander.”

“Are you ready to?”

“No. But I need his help.”

Lee nodded once. “I’ll go get your mokeskin pouch.”

Emile grinned after him as he left the room, hardly noticing the cold air on her legs as the comforter was pushed aside.

“So, have you banged yet?” Fred asked without a trace of embarrassment.

“Oh, I was just about to ask the same thing,” Ginny giggled, winking at Emile.

“You guys,” Emile mumbled, her face growing hot. “Nothing of the sort. In case you haven’t noticed, any one of us could die tomorrow. I’d rather not get super attached.”

“But you already are,” Ginny teased, flippantly flipping her hair over her shoulder. 

George smiled from the foot of the bed, but didn’t say anything.

The walk up to Ollivanders was slow and exhausting. Emile managed to walk all the way down the hall without anyones support, tripping only twice, but the stairs were a different story. She only managed to climb three before Lee picked her up and carried her the rest of the way up. 

“I’m sorry,” she said repeatedly. 

“Don’t you worry,” he responded at the top of the stairs, panting slightly. “You’ve got to heal.”

Ollivander’s room was the last one on the left. The inside of the room was lit by nothing but the light shining in from the late morning sun.

“You’re late,” was the first thing he said when they entered.

“A queen is never late,” Emile scoffed with a smile. “Everyone else is simply early.”

“You definitely look less dead,” he said, smilingly softly as Lee sat her down in a plump armchair by his bed. “They carried you past my door when you first got here. Never seen so much blood and bruises on one person. Simultaneously, that is.”

“Consider that a good thing,” Emile said with a shudder, smiling at Lee as he handed her her mokeskin pouch.

Ollivander nodded, eyes flicking to Lee. “You there. Boy.”

“Lee, if you don’t mind, sir.”

Ollivander smiled feebly. “He’s proper, this one. Be a dear and fetch me that chamomile tea and a pot of honey. Oh, and two cups. Emile will be joining me for my morning tea.”

“I guess I have no choice,” Emile smirked, grabbing Lee’s hand as he turned to leave. “Hey, will you bring me a blanket?”

“What else do you two need? A star from the sky?”

“I was going to say a burrito. I can’t eat a star.”

Lee rolled his eyes at Emile, but he was smiling as he left the room.

“That one’s alright,” Mr. Ollivander grunted, turning to the side to look at Emile. “You haven’t told him the real reason you can’t walk, right?”

Emile shook her head. “It’s getting better though. Hurts like the devil.”

Ollivander nodded slowly. “The Sectumsempra curse is what cost George his ear. You’re lucky to still have those legs of yours.”

“These shapely beauty’s,” Emile smiled, sticking her pajama clad legs in the air.

“Speaking of shapely beauty’s,” Ollivander’s eyes twinkled, “how are those wand supplies coming along?”

“Swimmingly,” Emile smiled, removing two boxes from her mokeskin pouch. “I’ve prepared some samples for you to see.”

“Do tell me about your adventures,” Ollivander urged as Emile handed him the two boxes, gently tossing them onto his bed.

“I did a lot and saw many,” Emile smiled. “Met Shikoba Wolfe.”

“Shikoba,” Ollivander shook his head. “That uptight, no good, son of a bitch.”

“I see you’re familiar with her,” Emile rolled her eyes.

“It’s hard not to be,” Ollivander closed the box containing wood samples and reached for the other one. “Shikoba traveled the world as soon as she got out of school, visiting all the wand shops she could. The week she spent bugging me was the second worst week of my life.”

“The second worst?”

“My son was a screamer.”

“Oh.”

“Fwooper feathers? A bit extravagant, don’t you think?”

“They were a gift.”

“It’s quite a thrilling tale,” Lee said from the doorway, balancing a tray in one hand as he held the door open with another. He had a blanket draped around his neck.

“You took your time,” Ollivander wheezed, sitting up straighter in his bed.

“I was stopped by Fred,” Lee said with a pointed look at Emile. “When were you planning on telling me your legs nearly got chopped off?”

“You said you wouldn’t tell!” came Fred’s yell from outside of the room. He was inside a moment later, red in the face. “I’m sorry, Em. You’ve got to understand that ever since George lost his ear to that ridiculous curse, I’ve been a bit queasy whenever someone says Sectumsempra. I heard Ollivander mention it as I was taking some dirty linens to the laundry chute, and couldn’t help but listen-”

Emile held up a finger to quiet Fred before beckoning him over with a wave of her hand. Slowly, she stood up with a small groan and wrapped her arms around him.

“You get so anxious,” she teased, letting him go. “Get it together, talking like that will get Angelina nervous.”

Fred grumbled and left the room, but Lee was still frowning at her.

“What?” Emile sighed as she sunk back into the armchair.

“Please show me where you’re cut,” Lee said calmly.

“I’d rather not do that at this moment,” Emile responded, peeved. “Can we talk about this later?”

Lee sighed and turned to leave, tossing the blanket to Emile before closing the door.

“What’s up his butt?” Emile complained as she attempted to pull the armchair closer to the nightstand the tea was resting on.

“Emile, dear, did you ever actually talk to the lad about Bartemius?” Ollivander said slowly as he poured them each a cup of tea.

“Lee and I didn’t talk much after Bartemius did the thing,” Emile grumbled, wincing as a streak of pain shot up her leg as she pushed the chair closer.

“There’s your problem,” Ollivander smiled. “Now, about your wand.”

“What about it?”

“It doesn’t exist.”

Emile sighed, taking the boxes from Ollivander and putting them back into her pouch before taking one of the tea cups. 

“Don’t give me attitude,” Ollivander said dully, taking a sip of his tea.

“I don’t have a wand! Bartemius snapped it,” Emile complained, wrapping her hands around the warm cup.

“Make yourself a new one,” Ollivander snapped. “I’ve seen the hazel wand Lee carries around, I know you’re capable of making wands.”

“I fixed a wand core in Africa,” Emile remembered with a smile.

“Shikoba made herself a wand,” Ollivander continued, “you can too.”

“Shikoba knows herself well enough to make herself a wand,” Emile objected.

Ollivander sighed. “Why don’t you go take a look at the wand Bartemius had and see if you can combine elements from it in your new wand.”

“Why can’t I just use his wands?” 

“Because it isn’t your wand. This is your new assignment, make yourself a wand.”

Emile grumbled as she took another sip of her tea.

Mr. Ollivander leaned forwards slightly, raising his bushy eyebrows. “What was that?”

Emile sighed. “Yes, I guess I’ll do it.”

“Don’t guess,” he snapped, sitting back. “Do.”

By the time Mr. Ollivander had talked Emile dry, reminiscing about his own travels as she told him about her own, it was well into the afternoon. Lee, the twins, and Kingsley, had all gone to her treehouse to air today’s Potterwatch, and according to Ginny they wouldn’t be back for hours. Which was fine, if Emile was able to get down the stairs on her own. 

Ginny brought up one of the large sofa cushions and placed it on top of the stairs, helping Emile sit down before sliding it down the stairs. Thankfully Mrs. Weasley noticed at the last second, and cushioned Emile’s landing as she flew off the sofa cushion, laughing.

“DO YOU WANT HER TO LOSE HER LEGS,” Mr. Weasley shrieked, trembling, as Emile attempted to stand back up.

“Mrs. Weasley, I’m fine,” Emile insisted, grabbing hold of the older womans arm. “Ginny was just trying to help.”

“She should have gotten me to come help you,” Mrs. Weasley insisted, leading Emile towards her room. “You need to lie down.”

“I’m fine,” Emile insisted. “I can sit in the dining room.”

“You need to rest,” Mrs. Weasley insisted, opening the door to her room. “And I need a look at your legs.”

Emile sighed but allowed Mrs. Weasley to look over her thighs. The pale skin had numerous cuts, most of them the size of a simple cat scratch, but straight across the back of both of her thighs was a gash that cut right into the muscles. Mrs. Weasley had stitched it up as best as she could and was constantly finding new potions and elixirs to apply to the area in an attempt to get it to heal faster.

“How does it look?” Emile sighed as Mrs. Weasley unraveled the bandage from around her leg.

“You’re still incredibly skinny. I’ll gave Ginny give you extra food during dinner, we need to build you up again.”

“Surely I can eat in the dining room now?” Emile objected, wincing as Mrs. Weasley probed the skin around the cut.

The woman hesitated a moment, frowning slightly. “If you feel up to it, I suppose you can. But don’t rush yourself, take your time to heal.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine,” Emile hissed through clenched teeth as Mrs. Weasley applied the newest elixir onto her cuts.

That night Emile couldn’t sleep. Making a wand was easy enough, but making a wand for herself? That was a different story. The wand chose the wizard, how could the wizard choose the wand?

Emile was tossing and turning until three in the morning, when she realized that sleep wasn’t happening.

“Why can’t I figure this out?” she whispered to herself in the dark, tugging at her brunette hair with her shaky fingers. “I’m ready.”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Emile gasped, first in shock and then in pain as she instinctively tried pulling her legs closer to her body.

“Who is it?” she called out, grabbing hold of her glasses with one hand. “Who’s there?”

There was silence for a split second before the voice came again, fainter this time. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I’m ready now!” Emile hissed, eyes scanning the room for whoever could be making the noise. “Come and get me. Rodolphus, if that’s you I will not hesitate to hurt you.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” came the whisper, very faintly. From the corner of her eye Emile noticed a glowing light coming from her mokeskin pouch.

“Em?”

“Stop!” Emile gasped, but it was too late. The door to her room opened, and in stepped none other than Lee Jordan. 

“Em, what’s with the yelling?” he moaned, ruffling his hair with one hand. “I can hear you from the parlor, something about Rodolphus?”

“I don’t know, Lee, but maybe you should have knocked before coming in? Maybe I was in the middle of something, ever think of that?” Emile snapped, the words coming out much harsher than she had intended. 

Lee frowned and stuck his hands in his pockets, looking down at the floor. “Listen, Em. I’m sorry about earlier. I was really abrupt and you deserve nothing but sympathy right now.”

“I could argue with that, but I won’t,” Emile sighed, slouching over in her bed. “I’m sorry too. I should have been honest with you, all those years ago. All of you. You deserved to know about Bartemius, my father, everything. I should have told you about this too.”

“Yeah, I know,” Lee said with a smirk. 

Emile pouted and crossed her arms. “Now you’re making my apology insincere you ass. I was going to say that you can ask me anything and I’ll give you an honest answer, but—”

“No, no!” Lee sat down next to Emile on her bed eagerly, the door swinging shut behind him. “I’ll be nice I swear. Let’s talk, have a heart to heart. I’m ready.”

“Whenever you’re ready,” The whisper came again, accompanied by the dim glow from Emile’s bag.

“Who’s there?” Lee gasped, pulling a wand out of his pants pocket.

“No one!” Emile gasped, grabbing hold of his wand hand. “Put it away, please.”

“What are you hiding from me now?” Lee narrowed his eyes at her, but lowered his hand.

“Nothing, I swear!” Emile cried out, throwing her hands in the air. 

“Than what was that noise?” Lee asked suspiciously, waving his free hand around the room. “I don’t see any ghosts, or is Nearly Headless Nick hiding in the dresser?”

“I don’t know what it is,” Emile said calmly, restraining from rolling her eyes. “But it’s coming from inside my pouch.”

“Alright,” Lee nodded, holding up his wand. “Then we’re burning the pouch.”

“No!” Emile cried out, reaching out her hand, shiver running up her spine at the same moment Lee pointed his wand at the pouch. 

“Accio!” 

“Incendio!”

The pouch darted over to Emile’s outstretched hand at the same time as a whip of fire emerged from the end of Lee’s wand. He put it out with a small gasp, and the two of them stared at the pouch in Emile’s hand.

“You did it,” he whispered, drawing her attention towards him. Lee was looking right into her eyes.

“I did it,” Emile whispered softly as she stared back. After a long silence she blinked and broke eye contact, opening the pouch. “Now, lets see what that was.”

“Em, wait-”

As the drawstrings of the pouch loosened a warm light filled the room, streaming from a large block of wood.

“It’s my christmas present from Shikoba,” Emile whispered, pulling out the heavy wood. “”Whenever you’re ready…””

“Whenever you’re ready,” the block whispered back, glowing brightly.

“Lee, Lee this is it!” Emile gasped, examining the wood from all angles. “Shikoba started making a wand, now it’s up to me to finish it! Oh, can’t you feel that energy? What a core! Phoenix and Thunderbird, incredible!”

“But why is it a block?” Lee asked incredulously, lowering the wand in his hand.

“I don’t think Shikoba spent enough time with me to learn how I channel magic,” Emile mused as she pulled a long rectangular box from her pouch. 

“Incredible,” Lee whispered, causing Emile to look up at him. He wasn’t looking at the wood at all.

“Why do you keep looking at me?” Emile asked quietly, leaning closer to her friend as they made eye contact.

“Because I missed you,” Lee whispered, inching closer to her on the bed. 

“Is that all?” Emile whispered softly, putting one hand on top of the block of wood.

“Hey, I thought I was the one asking questions today,” Lee teased, leaning back. “I was looking forward to getting some answers, finally.”

“Butthead,” Emile grumbled, picking up the box and block. “Here, carry me to the kitchen, and we can talk while I work.”

“Don’t you think you ought to sleep a bit first?” Lee pressed as he stood up and walked around to her side of the bed. “I know you haven’t slept tonight.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Emile grunted as Lee leaned down, picking her up bridal style and carrying her out of the room.

For the next few hours only Lee and Emile sat in the dining room, having conversations that were several years overdue as Emile chipped away at the block of redwood in front of her. By the time the sun was creeping over the horizon both of them had gotten a deeper understanding of each other, and Emile had a new wand. After cleaning up the mounds of wood shaving as best they could, the two of them fell asleep in Emile’s bed, arms wrapped around each other as they drifted off into a dreamless sleep.


	90. The Battle of Hogwarts Part 1

They were eating dinner when it happened.

Emile was sitting between Lee and Ollivander, with Ginny on the other side of Lee. The twins were sitting across from them with their Aunt, and Arthur and Molly were sitting at the heads of the table. 

Ginny was the first one to sense the burning in her pocket, and jumped up so quickly that she slammed her knee into the table, knocking over a gravy boat as the heaps of food prepared by Mrs. Weasley rocked back and forth in their platters and bowls.

“Ginny, what the blazes are you doing?” Mr. Weasley asked, bemused.

“The galleon!” Ginny gasped, pulling a golden galleon out of her pocket.

“Where did you get all that money?” Mr. Ollivander smiled, leaning across the table to inspect it.”Oh, but this isn’t any ordinary galleon, is it?”

“Neville sent a message,” Ginny gasped, her face growing pale as she inspected the gold, her eyes widening. “It’s Harry!”

“Harry?!” a collective gasp rang around the table, and everyone hushed to listen to the youngest Weasley.

“He’s at Hogwarts!” Ginny yelped, looking up at her mother. “They’re taking back the school!”

Chatter immediately broke out amongst the table. Mrs. Weasley was arguing with Aunt Muriel over who ought to go help, Mr. Weasley was sending messages to the rest of the Order, Ginny was arguing that she HAD to go help.

Lee turned to Emile, mouth open and eyebrows furrowed worriedly.

“No way,” Emile stopped him, crossing her arms.

“Em, you can’t put yourself in danger again,” Lee insisted, his arms crossing.

“I can walk now, I’ll be fine,” Emile insisted, standing up and jumping in place to prove her point. She could tell by the way Lee’s eyes narrowed that he saw the miniscule winces going up her body whenever her feet hit the floor.

“You can’t go, Em,” Fred leaned over the table. “It’s out of the question.”

“You can’t stop me,” Emile objected in a hiss, eyes narrowing at Fred.

Fred sighed and turned to his twin. “Come on, mate. You’re the only one who can get through to her.”

George made brief eye contact with Emile, the first time he’d made eye contact with her since he stumbled upon Emile and Lee sleeping in the same bed. Emile winced as her desperate, now more hazel than green eyes met George’s familiar brown eyes, reflecting just for a moment how hurt he was inside.

George looked at Fred, refusing to look at Emile. “I actually think she should go.”

“What?!” Fred, Lee, and an eavesdropping Ginny all shouted at George, faces reflecting equal amounts of astonishment.

“What is going on over here?” Molly Weasley huffed, arms crossing as she stood over Ginny and Fred.

“George thinks Emile should go to Hogwarts!” Lee half-shouted, turning to Mrs. Weasley with disbelief on his face.

“Over my soul-less body,” Mrs. Weasley huffed, rounding on George. “Whyever would you put her in danger like that?”

George couldn’t meet his mother’s eyes. “I just thought that if Ginny and Emile went together, and stuck together, they’d have a better chance at pulling through.”

There was silence around the table as the adults took in what George had said.

“It’s… a good idea,” Lee admitted quietly, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes.

“Don’t sound too surprised,” George grumbled, just loud enough for the teens sitting down to hear.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” GInny objected, glaring at her mother.

“Protector, not babysitter,” Mr. Weasley corrected her, turning to Emile as he joined the conversation. “Are you sure that you’re up for it?”

“Of course,” Emile nodded vigorously, a smile creeping onto her face. “Besides, Molly, I’ve got some scores to settle.”

Mrs. Weasley sighed, sinking against Fred’s chair. “I suppose there’s no way to stop you.”

A streak of silver shot in through the window, landing directly in front of Ginny and taking the shape of a silver hare.

“Dean and I are off to school. Be wary of the wrackspurts in Aberforths, he has an infestation,” Luna’s dreamy voice echoed out from the hare, fading away along with the creature.

“That settles it,” Ginny stood up, rubbing her hands together. “Come on everyone. Shoes on, wands ready.”

“Now hold on just a moment,” Mrs. Weasley lunged after her daughter, jerking back as a silver streak landed in front of her. Emile wasn’t around long enough to see who it was from, but she assumed it was a member of the Order.

Rushing into her room, Emile pulled off her pants and changed the bandages on her leg really quickly, applying salve mixed with numbing potion onto the nearly sealed cuts before bandaging them back up. She pulled on a fresh pair of jeans, heavy leather boots, and a black tank top before rushing into the hallway, wand in hand. She nearly collided head on with Lee Jordan.

“Lee, we’re kind of in a rush here,” Emile whispered as he put his hand on her shoulder.

Silently, Lee handed her a thick, fleece flannel shirt. 

Emile took it from him, slipping it on silently as she looked up at Lee.

“Have I ever told you how short you are?” Lee spoke after a moment, a small grin creeping onto his face.

“Bugger off,” Emile grumbled, a sly smile creeping onto her own face. The long sleeves of the shirt dangled considerable further than her hands, and she rolled them up before turning back to Lee and wrapping her now warm arms around him. He wrapped his arms around her in return and leaned down to give her a peck on the head.

“Em,” Ginny’s voice came from behind Lee. The ginger was looking at them with arms crossed impatiently, but her eyes glittered sadly. “We’re leaving.”

Lee and Emile both jumped away from each other, Emile tucking her brown hair behind her ear nervously as they followed Ginny outside, keeping a safe distance between the three of them. She couldn’t meet the uncomfortable stare from George when Lee held the front door open for her, and she shot him a small smile of thanks.

“Ginny,” Fred glanced awkwardly amongst everyone gathered there, “why don’t you apparate with Lee? I’ll take Emile with me.”

Emile snapped her head towards Fred. “I can-”

“You can’t even jump,” Fred interrupted, sticking his arm out. “We don’t want you wrenching your wound open because you twisted too hard.”

Emile saw the sense in what Fred was saying, and silently took his arm. On his count, the three apparators turned on their heels and whisked them away. Emile opened her eyes a moment later to find herself standing in a familiar, shabby, darkened bar. It was devoid of any life forms, but Ginny grabbed hold of Fred’s arm and dragged him away towards a door in the back.

“Aberforth!” Ginny yelled, traipsing into a darkened room. On one wall hung a painting of a young girl, while another had a crackling fireplace.

“Portrait’s open!” Aberforth popped in, scowling at all of them. “I’m trying to take a kip and you’re all traipsing through like a herd of elephants. How many more of you kids will there be?”

“Kids? Not sure,” Emile grinned. “Adults? Hopefully plenty.”

“Not you,” Aberforth grumbled, looking Emile up and down. “Almost didn’t recognize you with that hair.”

“Aberforth, I’m insulted,” Emile scoffed, flipping her hair to the side as Ginny walked over to the large portrait, swinging it open to reveal a dark, dank tunnel.

“Off with you,” Aberforth grabbed a bottle of firewhiskey as Ginny ushered everyone into the tunnel. Igniting their wands, the five of them ran down the dark tunnel in silence, illuminating the darkness before them. 

Ginny was the first to break the silence between them. “Hey, who’s that in front of us?”

A lone figure had halted in the tunnel before them, wand raised as it squinted down at the five people approaching her. Emile couldn’t believe the sight in front of her, who, for once, was not sobbing.

“Cho Chang!”

“Oh, thank Merlin it’s just you guys,” Cho sighed in relief, running next to Emile as they passed her. “I got the message in the galleons.”

“We figured,” Ginny said dryly, looking back to glare at Cho. She clearly had some prejudice against the former Ravenclaw for dating Harry. 

Cho fell into the groups silence as the end of the tunnel came into sight. Together, the five of them pushed on the door before them, revealing a large room.  It was enormous, and looked rather like the interior of a particularly sumptuous tree house, or perhaps a gigantic ship’s cabin. Multicolored hammocks were strung from the ceiling and from a balcony that ran around the dark wood-paneled and windowless walls, which were covered in bright tapestry hangings of three of the four Hogwarts houses. The silver and green of Slytherin alone was absent. There were bulging bookcases, a few broomsticks propped against the walls, and in the corner, a large wooden-cased wireless. 

Cries of welcome came from a large crowd of people before them, including Ron, Hermione, and the famous Harry Potter. Emile smiled at Ron, who, after a brief glance at Hermione, smiled back. 

“Aberforth’s getting a bit annoyed,” said Fred, raising his hand in answer to several cries of greeting. “He wants a kip, and his bar’s turned into a railway station.” 

Harry’s mouth fell open as Cho walked in last, the door swinging shut behind her.

“I got the message,” she said, holding up her own fake Galleon, and she walked over to sit beside Michael Corner. 

“So what’s the plan, Harry?” said George. 

“There isn’t one,” said Harry, seeming somewhat disoriented.

“Just going to make it up as we go along, are we? My favorite kind,” said Fred. 

“You’ve got to stop this!” Harry told Neville. “What did you call them all back for? This is insane —” 

“We’re fighting, aren’t we?” said Dean, taking out his fake Galleon. “The message said Harry was back, and we were going to fight! I’ll have to get a wand, though —” 

“You haven’t got a wand — ?” began Seamus. 

Ron turned suddenly to Harry. 

“Why can’t they help?” 

“What?” Harry looked at his friend as if he didn’t recognize the ginger, and the infamous golden trio fell into a muttered debate.

Emile stood by Lee as Fred and George turned to the people closest to them and began cracking jokes. Muttered chatter had broken out amongst the people gathered; Luna was smiling as Hannah Abbot greeted her and Dean with hugs, and Seamus pestered Dean about his lack of wand. 

Locking eyes with Neville for a moment, Emile managed a small smile. Her half brother smiled back, and ran forward to give her a hug.

“When did you get so tall?” Emile laughed as she struggled free of Neville’s embrace.

“Maybe you’ve just shrunk,” Neville teased, a sparkle in his eyes.

“I like this new, confident, Neville,” Emile grinned, lightly punching him in the arm.

“Well, it’s been a long year,” Neville’s smile wavered and his eyes became distant as he subconsciously reached to touch one of the bruises on his face.

“It has been a very long year,” Emile agreed quietly, her eyes trailing down till she was staring at her boots.

Neville opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a shout.

“Okay,” Harry called to the room at large, and all noise ceased: Fred and George, who had been cracking jokes for the benefit of those nearest, fell silent, and all of them looked alert, excited. 

“There’s something we need to find,” Harry said. “Something — something that’ll help us overthrow You-Know-Who. It’s here at Hogwarts, but we don’t know where. It might have belonged to Ravenclaw. Has anyone heard of an object like that? Has anyone ever come across something with her eagle on it, for instance?” 

He looked hopefully toward the little group of Ravenclaws, to Padma, Michael, Terry, and Cho, but it was Luna who answered, perched on the arm of Ginny’s chair. 

“Well, there’s her lost diadem. I told you about it, remember, Harry? The lost diadem of Ravenclaw? Daddy’s trying to duplicate it.” 

“Yeah, but the lost diadem,” said Michael Corner, rolling his eyes, “is lost, Luna. That’s sort of the point.” 

“When was it lost?” asked Harry. 

“Centuries ago, they say,” said Cho, and Harry’s face fell. “Professor Flitwick says the diadem vanished with Ravenclaw herself. People have looked, but,” she appealed to her fellow Ravenclaws, “nobody’s ever found a trace of it, have they?” 

They all shook their heads. 

“Sorry, but what is a diadem?” asked Ron. 

“It’s a kind of crown,” said Terry Boot. “Ravenclaw’s was supposed to have magical properties, enhance the wisdom of the wearer.” 

“Yes, Daddy’s Wrackspurt siphons —” 

But Harry cut across Luna. “And none of you have ever seen anything that looks like it?” 

They all shook their heads again. Emile shuffled her feet anxiously as the Golden trio exchanged concerned looks.

“If you’d like to see what the diadem’s supposed to look like, I could take you up to our common room and show you, Harry? Ravenclaw’s wearing it in her statue,” Luna’s eyes seemed more focused as she smiled at Harry.

He glanced at Cho and then back at Ron and Hermione. “Listen, I know it’s not much of a lead, but I’m going to go and look at this statue, at least find out what the diadem looks like. Wait for me here and keep, you know — the other one — safe.” 

Cho had got to her feet, but Ginny said rather fiercely, “No, Luna will take Harry, won’t you, Luna?” 

“Oooh, yes, I’d like to,” said Luna happily, and Cho sat down again, looking disappointed. 

“How do we get out?” Harry asked Neville. 

“Over here.” He led Harry and Luna to a corner, where a small cupboard opened onto a steep staircase. 

“It comes out somewhere different every day, so they’ve never been able to find it,” Neville said. “Only trouble is, we never know exactly where we’re going to end up when we go out. Be careful, Harry, they’re always patrolling the corridors at night.” 

“No problem,” said Harry. “See you in a bit.” 

With that the long awaited hero disappeared into the school with Luna by his side, and the cupboard slammed shut behind them. 

A nervous chatter broke out as soon as the door closed. Ron and Hermione were whispering to each other, Ron miming something with his hands. Dean and Seamus were talking to Hannah Abbott, who was continuing her round of hugs. Ginny was greeting all of her old friends with a warm grin, despite the circumstances they were in. And behind them, the portrait hole kept swinging open, as more and more members of the DA and the Order came pouring into the room. Bill and Fleur, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley-

“Angelina!” Emile gasped, running forward and throwing her arms around her friend.

“EMILE VICTORIA GORSKA,” Angelina shrieked, squeezing Emile in her arms as tight as she could. “Em, oh my god Em.”

“I...breathe…” Emile choked out, clawing feebly at her friends back.

“Don’t kill her Angie,” Lee laughed, walking up to them. “We just got her back.”

“Oh, bugger off Lee,” Angelina smiled, tears in her eyes. “Let me have this moment.”

Emile laughed, tears gathering in her own eyes as she continued hugging her friend. She felt another set of arms wrap around her from behind as Lee joined in the hug, and the two girls gave sloppy, teary laughs. 

Another screech from the doorway indicated the entrance of Alicia, who ran over to the three of them and shoved Lee aside, wrapping her arms around her two friends and tearing up along with them.

“I feel so excluded,” Lee pouted, crossing his arms.

The three girls laughed and loosened their grips on each other, wiping tears away with their sleeves.

“Here,” a familiar voice sounded behind Emile, carrying a box of tissues. “You look like you need these.”

Emile’s eyes began tearing up again as she blurrily looked up at her old friend and Quidditch captain. “Oliver!”

Oliver laughed as Emile wrapped her arms around him too, crying harder.

“Is she alright?” he asked the people there, confused.

Emile was blubbering too hard to respond, but she grabbed a tissue and blew her nose into the softened paper. “I just missed you all so much.”

“We missed you too,”Angelina wailed, wrapping her arms around Emile yet again and restarting their cycle of tears.

“What is this?”

Emile looked up, puffy eyed, as a confused Remus Lupin looked down on the group of sobbing young adults, a perplexed expression on his face.

“Remus!” Emile laughed through tears, coughing lightly. “Where’s Tonks?”

“With Teddy,” Remus smiled softly at the mention of his son. “Whats going on here? Where’s Harry?”

“Yes,” Oliver looked around the room, purplexed. “Where is Harry?”

At that moment, Harry slipped down the last few stairs in shock, staring wide eyed at the packed room. 

“Harry, what’s happening?” said Lupin, meeting him at the foot of the stairs. 

“Voldemort’s on his way, they’re barricading the school — Snape’s run for it — What are you doing here? How did you know?” 

“We sent messages to the rest of Dumbledore’s Army,” Fred explained. “You couldn’t expect everyone to miss the fun, Harry, and the D.A. let the Order of the Phoenix know, and it all kind of snowballed.” 

“What first, Harry?” called George. “What’s going on?” 

“They’re evacuating the younger kids and everyone’s meeting in the Great Hall to get organized,” Harry said. “We’re fighting.” 

There was a great roar and a surge toward the foot of the stairs; Harry was pressed against the wall as a horde of people ran past him; the mingled members of the Order of the Phoenix, Dumbledore’s Army, and the old Quidditch team, all with their wands drawn, heading up into the main castle. 

“Come on, Luna,” Dean called as he passed, holding out his free hand; she took it and followed him back up the stairs. 

The crowd was thinning: Only a little knot of people remained in the Room of Requirement, and Harry joined them. 

Mrs. Weasley was struggling with Ginny. Around them stood Lupin, Fred, George, Bill, and Fleur. 

“You’re underage!” Mrs. Weasley shouted at her daughter as Harry approached. “I won’t permit it! The boys, yes, but you, you’ve got to go home!” 

“I won’t!” Ginny’s hair flew as she pulled her arm out of her mother’s grip. “I’m in Dumbledore’s Army —” 

“A teenagers’ gang!” 

“A teenagers’ gang that’s about to take him on, which no one else has dared to do!” said Fred. 

“She’s sixteen!” shouted Mrs. Weasley. “She’s not old enough! What you two were thinking, bringing her with you —” 

Fred and George looked slightly ashamed of themselves. 

Emile felt a tug on her arm pulling her away from the group.

“Come on, Em,” Lee had his hand on her arm and was looking at the family. “We’d better go help.”

“I—”

There was a scuffling and a great thump: Someone else had clambered out of the tunnel, overbalanced slightly, and fallen. He pulled himself up on the nearest chair, looked around through lopsided horn-rimmed glasses, and said, “Am I too late? Has it started? I only just found out, so I — I —” 

Percy spluttered into silence. Evidently he had not expected to run into most of his family. There was a long moment of astonishment, broken by Fleur turning to Lupin and saying, in a wildly transparent attempt to break the tension, “So — ’ow eez leetle Teddy?” 

Lupin blinked at her, startled. The silence between the Weasleys seemed to be solidifying, like ice. 

“I — oh yes — he’s fine!” Lupin said loudly. “Yes, Tonks is with him — at her mother’s —” 

Percy and the other Weasleys were still staring at one another, frozen. 

“Here, I’ve got a picture!” Lupin shouted, pulling a photograph from inside his jacket and showing it to Fleur and Harry. 

“I was a fool!” Percy roared, so loudly that Lupin nearly dropped his photograph. “I was an idiot, I was a pompous prat, I was a — a —” 

“Ministry-loving, family-disowning, power-hungry moron,” said Fred. 

Percy swallowed. 

“Yes, I was!” 

“Well, you can’t say fairer than that,” said Fred, holding out his hand to Percy. 

Mrs. Weasley burst into tears. She ran forward, pushed Fred aside, and pulled Percy into a strangling hug, while he patted her on the back, his eyes on his father. 

“I’m sorry, Dad,” Percy said. Mr. Weasley blinked rather rapidly, then he too hurried to hug his son.

“Ginny!” Emile beckoned to the teenager, nodding towards the stairwell out of the room of requirement.

Ginny, who refused to meet Emile’s eyes, began creeping towards the stairway, trailing behind Lee and Emile as they headed for the stairs.

“Ginny!” barked Mrs. Weasley. 

Ginny swore under her breath as she turned back to her mother, arms crossed.

“Molly, how about this,” said Lupin. “Why doesn’t Ginny stay here, then at least she’ll be on the scene and know what’s going on, but she won’t be in the middle of the fighting?” 

“I —” 

“That’s a good idea,” said Mr. Weasley firmly. “Ginny, you stay in this room, you hear me?” 

Ginny did not seem to like the idea much, but under her father’s unusually stern gaze, she nodded. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Lupin headed off for the stairs as well. 

“Let’s go,” Emile pushed Lee up the stairwell as the adults neared them, and the two of them raced up the stone steps, hearing the echoes of chatter bouncing up the stone corridor. In the half light, Lee took Emile’s hand in his and pulled her along after him. A small smile on her face, Emile entwined her fingers with Lee’s, and the two of them ran silently towards the Great Hall, where McGonagall was giving instructions.

“. . . evacuation will be overseen by Mr. Filch and Madam Pomfrey. Prefects, when I give the word, you will organize your House and take your charges, in an orderly fashion, to the evacuation point.” 

Many of the students looked petrified. However, as the silence dragged on for a moment, Ernie Macmillan stood up at the Hufflepuff table and shouted, “And what if we want to stay and fight?” 

There was a smattering of applause. 

“If you are of age, you may stay,” said Professor McGonagall. 

“What about our things?” called a girl at the Ravenclaw table. “Our trunks, our owls?” 

“We have no time to collect possessions,” said Professor McGonagall. “The important thing is to get you out of here safely.” 

“Where’s Professor Snape?” shouted a girl from the Slytherin table. 

“He has, to use the common phrase, done a bunk,” replied Professor McGonagall, and a great cheer erupted from the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws. 

Emile chuckled along with Lee as they watched the students cheering aggressively.

“Can you believe we were that small once?” Lee mused, staring across the hall at the small children.

Emile smiled and gave Lee’s hand a squeeze. He wordlessly squeezed hers back.

“We have already placed protection around the castle,” Professor McGonagall was saying, “but it is unlikely to hold for very long unless we reinforce it. I must ask you, therefore, to move quickly and calmly, and do as your prefects —” 

But her final words were drowned as a different voice echoed throughout the Hall. It was high, cold, and clear: There was no telling from where it came; it seemed to issue from the walls themselves. Like the monster it had once commanded, it might have lain dormant there for centuries. 

“I know that you are preparing to fight.” There were screams amongst the students, some of whom clutched each other, looking around in terror for the source of the sound. “Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood.” 

There was silence in the Hall now, the kind of silence that presses against the eardrums, that seems too huge to be contained by walls. 

“Give me Harry Potter,” said Voldemort’s voice, “and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded.”

“You have until midnight.” 

The silence swallowed them all again. Every head turned, every eye in the place seemed to have found Harry, to hold him frozen in the glare of thousands of invisible beams. Then a figure rose from the Slytherin table and he recognized Pansy Parkinson as she raised a shaking arm and screamed, “But he’s there! Potter’s there! Someone grab him!” 

Before Harry could speak, there was a massive movement. The Gryffindors in front of him had risen and stood facing, not Harry, but the Slytherins. Then the Hufflepuffs stood, and almost at the same moment, the Ravenclaws, all of them with their backs to Harry, all of them looking toward Pansy instead, and wands emerged everywhere, pulled from beneath cloaks and from under sleeves. 

“Thank you, Miss Parkinson,” said Professor McGonagall in a clipped voice. “You will leave the Hall first with Mr. Filch. If the rest of your House could follow.” 

“Ravenclaws, follow on!” cried Professor McGonagall. Slowly the four tables emptied. The Slytherin table was completely deserted, but a number of older Ravenclaws remained seated while their fellows filed out; even more Hufflepuffs stayed behind, and half of Gryffindor remained in their seats, necessitating Professor McGonagall’s descent from the teachers’ platform to chivvy the underage on their way. 

Kingsley had stepped forward on the raised platform to address those who had remained behind. 

“We’ve only got half an hour until midnight, so we need to act fast! A battle plan has been agreed between the teachers of Hogwarts and the Order of the Phoenix. Professors Flitwick, Sprout, and McGonagall are going to take groups of fighters up to the three highest towers — Ravenclaw, Astronomy, and Gryffindor — where they’ll have a good overview, excellent positions from which to work spells. Meanwhile Remus” — he indicated Lupin — “Arthur” — he pointed toward Mr. Weasley, sitting at the Gryffindor table — “and I will take groups into the grounds. We’ll need somebody to organize defense of the entrances of the passageways into the school —” 

“Sounds like a job for us,” called Fred, indicating himself and George, and Kingsley nodded his approval. 

“All right, leaders up here and we’ll divide up the troops!”

Emile and Lee hung back by the door as the crowd surged forward, eager to help defend their school. Fred and George were pushing through the crowd towards them, George’s eyes darting briefly down to Emile and Lee’s intertwined fingers.

“What do you say mates?” Fred grinned at them, his eyebrows wiggling. “Want to cause some shenanigans one last time?”

“I’m sure there’ll be many more,” Lee grinned, letting go of Emile’s hand and putting it on Fred’s shoulder.

“We can only hope,” George sighed, looking up at the star speckled ceiling as the four of them stood, silent, amongst the crowd of rushing students.

“To war?” Emile asked in a whisper, her eyes finally meeting George’s for the first time in what felt like forever.

“To war.”


	91. The Battle of Hogwarts Part 2

Five minutes were left.

The entrances were rigged with a number of goods and spells, ranging from wet start fireworks to dungbombs to very well calculated amounts of explosives. The stone soldiers that often stood silent in the halls were now lined up in the entrance hall, as well as outside of the school grounds. Their armor gleamed in the moonlight.

Four minutes to go.

The ginormous clock was ticking slowly, its pendulum rhythmically swinging back and forth, back and forth. George was standing beneath it, staring up into the infirmary with a vacant expression on his face. One could only wish to know what he was thinking.

Only three minutes; one hundred and eighty seconds.

In the far off distance you could see the shrouded smog that followed dementors rising into the air as the creatures grew more and more impatient. Fred brandished his wand almost nervously as he looked from the clock, to the creatures, to a friend, and back to the clock.

The cycle continued.

Two minutes, too little time.

Lee couldn’t take the silence as everyone watched the sky, the far off grounds, the bridges. This could be the last moment of silence they ever experienced, and he didn’t want to spend it alone, but where was she?

Thirty seconds.

Angelina paced the Astronomy tower alongside Professor McGonagall, the wind buffeting their hair as they watched the darkness beyond the castle. She hadn’t seen Fred before the battle, was this a good sign? Did it mean everything would be alright? No godly power would ever be so cruel as to doom her to no goodbye to the man she loved.

Ten seconds.

Emile stood on the bridge with Neville, watching the other end carefully. It was quiet. Too quiet. Maybe it was the last quiet.

“Neville?”

“Em?”

“I-”

The two of them whipped around, clenching their wands, as the old grandfather clock by the infirmary began to toll, the chimes of midnight ringing out across the still, quiet grounds.

As the final toll of twelve rang out, there was a moment of silence. Then, all at once, a series of shrieks split the night. Battle cries and screams echoed through the darkness, growing closer, and closer.

“RUN!” Neville boomed, pulling Emile towards the castle as masked figures appeared on the other end of the bridge. She didn’t need to be asked twice. 

Sprinting as fast as their feet could carry them, the half-siblings ran up the bridge, away from the evil that trailed them. They ignited the bombs as they ran past the strings on the bridge, speeding up to avoid the explosions that followed. 

On wobbly legs, they hurled towards the end of the bridge, leaping in the last moment to reach solid ground. Emile’s feet landed on the cliffside, and she wobbled a split second before clawing her way forwards onto solid ground. Behind her, Neville was leaning far too back for personal comfort, so Emile grabbed his shirt collar and pulled him forward.

They collapsed onto the ground, panting and breathing heavily, but their relief was very short lived. Red sparks collided with the dirt around them, loosening the cliffside they were lying on. Scrabbling for a foot hold, the two of them dashed back towards the castle. 

“I’m going to look for Hannah!” Neville yelled at Emile as they slid to a halt in the dungeons.

“Good luck!” Emile gasped giving him a squeeze on the shoulder before turning and running the opposite direction from him, where she knew a secret passage would get her to the entrance hall.

Stumbling through the darkness, unwilling to ignite her wand in case there were death eaters in the passage, Emile found herself crashing headfirst into a warm body.

“Who’s there?!” The two of them cried out in unison, igniting their wands  to reveal the others frightened face.

“Ernie Macmillan?” Emile gasped for breath, lowering her wand.

“Emile Gorska?” Ernie’s face reflected equal astonishment as the blinked twice. “What are you doing in here?”

“Going to the entrance hall,” Emile frowned at Ernie. “What about you? You’re not hiding, are you?”

“No! Never!” Ernie’s face turned red. “Professor Slughorn send me down for some potions he keeps in his classroom. Mixed together, they could prove to be crazy explosive.”

“Oh, sorry,” Emile gave an apologetic smile. “Good luck, then.”

“You too,” Ernie gave her a feeble smile and rushed away, extinguishing his wand as he went. Taking a deep breath, Emile run up the passage, stepping out from behind a charred tapestry. 

Before her was complete chaos.

Death Eaters were pursuing students and staff alike, shooting spells and charms of multitude that shook the entirety of the old castle. Across the hall from her, she glimpsed Lee with Hannah, sheltering in what remained of a secret passageway. Fred was darting past them, shouting words of encouragement and passing out sacks of Peruvian Darkness powder. George was up on the balcony by the old grandfather clock, dueling two death eaters.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Emile darted over to the steps, and taking them two at a time, ran for George and his assailants.

“Reducto!” She hissed as she neared the trio, the red light shooting out of her new wand with a force she hadn’t experienced before. It careened with one of the death eaters legs, tossing them over the balcony and sending it tumbling over and onto the whirring gears of the grandfather clock.

He was dead long before he fell onto the ground beneath.

“You!” The remaining death eater hissed, rounding on Emile and whipping off its mask.

“Jugson!” Emile felt a burning on her neck as she glared the the Death Eater. He was one of the many to have respected and honored Bartemius.

“Changing your hair won’t change what you’ve done,” Jugson hissed, brandishing his wand and taking a step towards Emile. 

“Don’t you go near her!” George yelled, lunging forward to grab hold of the death eater.

With a flick of his wand, Jugson immobilized George, and he fell onto the ground with a dull thud, wide eyes fixed on Emile.

“George!” Emile yelped eyes blinking away tears.

“You think you’re so special, do you?” Jugson sneered, coming closer to Emile. “Escaping doesn’t make you a special snowflake, it just puts a target on your back. Remember Karkaroff? He’s one of many to face the fate that follows you today. Don’t your friends know about you? What you’ve done? Who’s really in control?”

“Yes,” Emile hissed, eyes narrowing. “They do.”

With a flick of her wrist, Jugson’s wand was tossed from his grasp and into the churning gears of the clock below. The death eater stared, petrified as Emile flicked her wrist again, and George stood up from the ground behind him, the freezing charm removed from his body.

“Would you like to do the honors?” Emile purred to George, who gave her a scared look.

“Let him go.”

“W-what?” Emile pulled back, lowering her wand. “George, if you let him go he’ll just go kill someone else. He could kill anyone, Fred, Ginny, your mother. We have to get rid of him.”

“Then leave him hidden in a full body bind,” George looked Emile in the eyes. “We can put him in Ravenclaw Tower with Alecto and Amycus. Just, don’t kill again.”

“I…” Emile stared at George as Jugson began to laugh, a cackle so hard he fell onto the ground.

“See?” He cried out, wiping tears from his eyes. “You’ve changed. You just killed one of your Death Eaters.”

George glared at the Death Eater and wordlessly cast a full body bind on his cackling figure.

Emile backed away from them, her eyes tearing up.

“Em,” George began, taking a step towards her.

“Stay back,” Emile whispered, pointing her wand at George. “Keep away from me.”

“Emile, you need-”

“I don’t want to hurt you!” Emile wailed, her eyes burning with tears. 

“I know you won’t hurt me,” George insisted, stepping forward.

“But I did, I already did,” Emile’s voice cracked, and it hurt to talk. “I —  I chose Lee. And now you hate me, and I don’t want you to hate me, but you do I can see it when you look at me, and you never look at me anymore, and I don’t want you to leave me alone again because even if I’m with Lee I won’t stop needing—” 

Emile’s sobs stopped her from talking; her chest was heaving with every sob and pains were shooting through her ribcage. She couldn’t see anymore, her eyes were squinted shut and tears were burning up her eyes. This was neither the time nor the place, but it was happening. 

She was dimly aware of George guiding her away from the porch, and down a darkened hallway. As soon as a thump sounded behind them, he wrapped his arms around her, letting her cry into his chest as the sounds of battle continued in the distance. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as the sobs faded away. 

George’s embrace remained just as tight as before. “I know. I don’t blame you, Em.”

“You don’t?”

“Never. It wasn’t your choice.”

Emile gave a breathy chuckle as the two of them drew back, looking at each other. “You’re really alright with this?”

George nodded. “I promise. I’ll always be here for you if you need me. I know there’s someone out there for me, but I don’t know if I’ll ever find what you and Lee have.”

Emile wrapped her arms around George again, letting go after a moment. “There’s a battle to fight.”

“A war to win,” George spoke in a hollow voice as he looked at her.

“Hang in there,” Emile whispered, giving him yet another hug. 

George took in a deep breath before letting her go, and with a small nod, he disappeared into the darkness with a frozen Jugson.

Outside the school it was impossible to tell what was going on, who was fighting who. All Emile had to do was shoot spells at whoever came at her, which happened to be an incredibly large amount of death eaters. Soon she was joined by Lee, and they stood back to back as they shot spell after spell, jinx after curse.

“Watch out!” Lee shouted as an enormous spider bore down on them, hissing and clicking angrily. 

Improvising, Emile shot the spider in the eyes with a conjunctivis curse, watching it crumple to the ground in a stunned sleep.

“Nice move!” Lee shouted, grinning at her.

“We’ve got more coming!” Emile yelled back, rounding on the oncoming herd of spiders.

“Look out!” A cry came from across the lawn as a group of dementors dove down onto them. The ground turned icy, the air freezing cold. Emile couldn’t help but stare up into the hooded figure as it reached up, slowly moving back its cloak.

As darkness creeped in around the edge of her vision, Emile felt herself falling to the ground. It was so cold.

Suddenly she was surrounded by silver light, and two figures collided with the dementor in front of her. Two pairs of hands were helping her up as she struggled to place her feet on solid ground.

“You alright?” Angelina gasped from her right, wand clutched in one hand while she propped up Emile with the other.

“We aren’t letting you leave yet,” Lee’s warm voice sounded in her left ear, and a feeling just like eating chocolate spread throughout Emile’s body.

Her vision cleared enough to see a fennec fox and eagle fighting off the dementors in front of her, both radiating silver energy. 

“YOU.”

The three of them whirred around at the sight of Rudolphus Lestrange, advancing on the three of them with Thorfin Rowle and Walden Macnair.

“Rowle,” Angelina hissed, recognizing the Death Eater from the Battle of the Astronomy Tower.

“Johnson,” Rowle growled back, eyes narrowed.

“Macnair,” Lee sniffed, glaring at the Death Eater.

“Jordan,” Macnair gave a sly grin as he locked eyes with Lee.

“Emile,” Emile said, exasperatedly pointing from herself to the unnamed death eater, “Rudolphus. Great, now that we all know each other, get the hell out of our school.”

“Your school?” Rudolphus laughed along with his death eaters, attention wavering.

“No,” Angelina stood her ground, eyes blazing, “Dumbledore’s School!”

With a cry, Emile, Angelina, and Lee each blasted a spell at the nearest death eater. Caught off guard, Rowle crumpled to the ground, finding himself without any bones in his pelvis, and Rudolphus was caught in the temples with a stinging hex.

Everything after that happened in slow motion.

Lee turned to Rudolphus, blinking worriedly.

Emile jumped in between them as Rudolphus lifted his wand.

Angelina was driven away, caught in a duel with Macnair.

Lee’s shouts rang out in the battle, breaking through the noise.

There was a flash of green, the color of Emile’s eyes, and her neck had never stung more than in that sole moment.


	92. Slow Motion

They often say that when you die, your entire life will flash before your eyes. Like a movie in slow motion, but with only snippets of it playing. So, like a movie trailer? Bartemius wasn’t sure. He didn’t know what a movie trailer was.

Was the beginning supposed to hook you onto something and captivate an audience? 

Probably?

Maybe?

Well, if that was the case, then Bartemius’s hook was one of the worst he’d ever seen. 

Bartemius Crouch Jr. always had tidy, well groomed hair. His mother made sure that it was always slick and gelled back, and the raven locks always gleamed as nicely as his freshly polished shoes. 

His young face was smooth, free of stubble or scars. His eyes, still large and young, revealed every trace of emotion that the rest of his face refused to show. As he followed his mother and father year after year, from meeting to meeting, dinner to dinner, the youthful and innocent eyes slowly became duller, and duller, and duller.

As Bartemius grew and developed, so did his relationship with his parents. His mother, kind and sweet, provided him with every need she could within reason. She loved him, and her actions and words reminded him of that daily. His father was distant, distracted, and always gone. The older he grew, the more Bartemius began to fear and resent his given name. How could he have any relation to a man so different from him? If his name was also Bartemius, did that mean that this future was inevitable for him? Darkness? Loneliness? Was this what being a Crouch meant for him?

Barty was home schooled, of course, with tutors coming to instruct him in the basic wizarding arts as soon as he was able to hold a wand. He hated them all. He didn’t care about some past wizarding wars, he wanted to play quidditch. But being an only child, he had to live up to his father's expectations. Good grades and a good ministry job.

But no one wants to hear the sob story of another spoiled rich kid.

There was a blurring pain in Bartemius’s left eye as the vision of the younger him faded, instead replaced with someone else. Someone who was somehow even more familiar.

Her hair was a very pale blonde when she was little, and her green eyes sparkled. She had on a dirty pair of overall shorts, with one hook undone to reveal more of a slightly cleaner yellow striped t-shirt. In youth, her face resembled more that of her mother and half brother, with a slight, adorable, squishy pudge around her cheeks. She was five years old and giggling in the front seat of her father's car, where she sat perched on no less than four large pillows as they sped down an empty freeway in the dead of night, singing along to one song or another. The car itself was packed with all sorts of oddities ranging from clothes to large pieces of furniture.

Emile’s life had always been unusual.

She didn’t get any permanent schooling until her father finally moved in with the Diggory’s and Cedric's tutor took her under her wing. Her father didn’t move into the Diggory’s until he decided that was his last resort. 

It took him a while to realize it was for the best.

The first several years of her life, Emile and her father roved from relative to relative, staying with family and friends from as short as one night to as long as three and a half months. Her father always ended up having conflicting morals with their hosts, but it took a while for them to realize that. 

Piotr Gorski himself was a work of art. He rarely shaved, and his beard made him seem almost younger in several ways. Shaving always seemed to age him, and he shaved only when things got really bad. 

That’s how Emile would learn to tell.

No matter how intoxicated or delirious Piotr got, he would never harm his little girl, the one last reminder he had of his beloved Alice. They deserved better than him, he would say, hiding from Emile’s comforting outstretched hands, crouched defensively in the corner of—

The pain in Bartemius’s eye returned as the imagine of a hiding Piotr wavered in front of him, and he couldn’t help but feel his throat get tight as the cowering figure of Emile’s father was replaced with none other than himself.

He hated remembering those first nights in the Slytherin dorms. 

Bartemius had, of course, been sorted into Slytherin house almost as soon as the sorting had landed on his head. His stony expression impressed some of the older Slytherins, but most of them considered Bartemius the odd one out. No one wanted to be friends with the dull, emotionless freak who actually like Divination. Who in their right mind liked that class?

“Teachers’ pet,” his roommates would whisper to each other whenever Bartemius got good grades in any class.

“Show off,” Bellatrix had hissed, eyes narrowed as Bartemius was moved up in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

He managed to worriedly half-smile at her before she promptly turned her back on him and began chatting with Rudolphus Lestrange.

His only somewhat friends were Narcissa, Lucius, and Bellatrix. Occasionally one (even more rarely, two) would come across him in the library or common room and stop to study with him. He was the emotionless brainiac they secretly admired, but also pitied.

Bartemius didn’t want to be pitied.

When he finally graduated at the very top of his class, all seven OWL’s and NEWT’s in the bag, Bartemius found himself being seduced by the Dark Lord himself.

Slowly, Bartemius began incorporating service to the Dark Lord into his daily life. His first official mission, to clean up some loose ends with the Auror Frank Longbottom alongside Bellatrix and Rudolphus, was supposed to end smoothly. But the whole time he kept hearing a voice in the room, or maybe in his head. And that song Alice was singing, it brought back memories he didn’t understand, of people he didn’t knew. An elderly couple, a hurricane, a pair of grinning gingers—

His eye was on fire as Bartemius watched a teenage Emile following Cedric towards the Hogwarts Express. She was shorter and skinnier than most of the other third years there, with somewhat hollow cheeks and scared eyes. There was no concealing her disappointment at being sorted into Gryffindor, and as the school year dragged on, Emile’s health seemed to decline.

Until she met them.

The Weasley twins and Lee pitied the new girl at first, struggling to bring Emile out of her shell. But the more comfortable Emile got with the boys, the less the pitied her. She was witty and smart, and never against a good prank or two. 

They all depended on each other for laughs or notes or even comfort, and even though Emile was often left feeling excluded from the boys, those moment gave her the opportunity to grow all the more closer to Angelina.

The five of them grew inseparable, and Emile grew stronger, smarter, and all the more loving. Lee’s affections for Emile were painfully obvious, yet time and time again everyone glossed over it like it was nothing. Finally the interruption of Oliver Wood brought the romance to a standstill, and Bartemius couldn’t help but notice how the pitying returned.

His head began to pound and Bartemius felt a shiver run up his spine as he recalled not a sight, but a feeling. Cold. The cold that dementors brought wherever they went, the same coldness that his own father had treated him with once he found out about Bartemius’s involvement with the Dark Lord. 

Azkaban had been a cold and dark place, and the dementors were driving him mad. All the while that Bartemius sat in there, he couldn’t help but think about his fellow Death Eaters, and if they were in here too. Were Lucius and Narcissa safe with their child? Was Bellatrix alive, or had her feisty attitude gotten her a dementor’s kiss? Was Rudolphus dead yet?

The longer he sat in his cell, the less he felt like getting up. He could feel his life force draining out of him with every passing day. Months went by until, finally, a visitor came to see him.

When his father came in with his mother’s nearly lifeless body, Bartemius was hardly conscious enough to register who was there. All he knew is that when he woke from his trance he was outside the prison walls, nestled in his father’s arms. As caring of a gesture as it was, it was nearly impossible to mistake the pain in his father’s eyes as he tried not to glare down at Bartemius, his cheeks stained with tears.

The pain in Bartemius’s eye grew unbearable as the next few years of his life flew by; being under the Imperius Curse, being nursed to health by Winky, his father’s endless ignorance, ridicule, and cruel behaviour. Bartemius endured it all, living with the fact that he was the fact his beloved, sweet, caring mother was dead.

When the Quidditch World Cup was in its early stages of development, Winky begged his father to allow him to go. He, of course, refused. In the back of his mind, Bartemius could tell, his father was growing aware that his Imperius Curse was no longer as effective as it had once been, but eventually he caved. 

And thank god he did. 

As soon as Bartemius got hold of a wand, he felt immense power rushing through him. He was a wizard. He could control life and death. And it was time to bring death to those who had betrayed his master all those years ago. But first he had to make sure that his death would not be permanent…

Emile’s scar was the same shape as Harry’s for a reason. She was a horcrux. That night at the Quidditch World Cup she had been mortally wounded, yet she miraculously survived. Her friends had been worried sick, and for good reason. She was… different. Quieter. More serious. Was it a near death experience that caused this change? Or was it something else?

Seeing his horcrux walking around the school brought Bartemius uncontrollable glee. Though there were some glitches, like the way she felt pain he felt, he was overall smug about his accomplishment. Or, at least he was until his vision started blurring one afternoon, and he watched as the blasted Weasley twins jabbered on about money and Ludo Baggman, a sharp eddy of sorrow piercing his heart. Bartemius shook it off as best as he could, but it haunted him. No, the vision didn’t haunt him. The feeling did. It was… complex. Warm yet sorrowful, loving yet scared. He was at a loss of how to describe the feeling.

Over the next while the visions from Emile grew more frequent, most of them involving the Weasley’s and joy, or longing and Lee Jordan. But what startled him most was the many emotions that came along with the receival… of a letter?

Bartemius went for a walk.

As himself.

No more grating wooden claw leg, even if it was just one evening of freedom. 

He had summoned Emile’s letter, surprised at the contents of the inside. And now he knew the whereabouts of Piotr Gorski, so perhaps he would tell him some details about Alice Longbottom. Bartemius was excited to be out, a little overexcited. He wasn’t aware of what he did until he had done it, and there was no way he could cover up what he had done. 

The anger coming from Emile was boring, and Bartemius had no trouble blocking it out of his mind. He continued to block her so much that he was unable to get back into contact with her. Until…

Bartemius’s eye had to be bleeding, there was no way his eye could handle this much piercing pain. The next few years went by in a blur, and everywhere he looked there was Emile, Emile, Emile-

“EMILE!” 


	93. Redemption

She woke with a start.

At first, Emile found herself floating through a thick fog.

“Not again,” she groaned, going forward with her hands in front of her. 

To her surprise, the fog began to evaporate. Emile found herself suspended in the air inside an airport terminal. Through an incredibly large window she could see a jet, waiting for takeoff. Everyone must have already boarded the plane, since the airport was completely deserted.

All of a sudden, Emile fell, hitting the ground with a dull thud. Footsteps ran in her direction, and a hand appeared in her blurry line of vision.

“Are you alright?”

Emile knew that voice. She hadn’t heard it in a long time.

“Cedric?”

A chuckle sounded next to her as the person helped her stand up and handed her her glasses. As soon as her vision cleared, Emile saw that she was right.

“Ced!”

Laughing, Emile enveloped her cousin in a hug, tears forming in her eyes as he hugged back. As she took a step back she noticed more people standing around her. A tall man with short black hair and an unshaven face stepped forward, his smile spreading to his green eyes as he enveloped Emile in a hug. 

“Emile.”

“Dad!”

Emile began to cry as her father embraced her.

“Who else is here?”

A look around the circle and she got her response. There was Fred, smirking as he watched her cry. And her grandfather, who looked so much like her father. Even Severus Snape, who looked out of place amongst the brightly colored muggle clothes and smiles of the others. And Emile hugged every single one of them.

“W-what are you doing here?” she managed to choke out as she held onto her father's hand. 

“Oh we were all in the neighborhood and decided to drop by… here.” Fred looked around the terminal. “Wherever here is.”

“I do believe it’s a muggle airport,” Snape said with a sniff.

“I’m dead, aren’t I,” Emile said bluntly.

“Just a bit,” her grandfather wheezed, a smile on his face.

“A bit?”

Cedric grinned. “You’re somewhere in between life and death.”

Emile grinned at her cousin. “Do I have to board that plane to get to the afterlife? How coincidentally metaphoric.”

Fred and Cedric laughed, even Snape cracked a small smile. But Emile’s father gave her a worried look. 

“I don’t think you understand, Emile. This time the choice isn’t just about you.”

“Who else could it involve?”

To Emile’s horror, the people around her began to disappear. Where moments ago solid bodies had stood, there was nothing. She stared into the green eyes of her father as he faded away before her eyes.

“No, no, no.”

Emile fell to her knees. Again, she didn’t get a chance to say goodbye. She couldn’t protect her family and friends. Of course she couldn’t protect them, she couldn’t even protect herself.

“Just because I can’t hear you doesn’t mean I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Emile began to sob again. That voice, of course that voice came to her.

“No, don’t go crying on me. You know I hate that.”

A figure kneeled in front of her, and Emile felt someone draw her in for a hug. She sobbed into his shoulder miserably, knowing that any moment now he would fade away too.

But, but this voice wasn’t supposed to have an individual body.

This voice was just a voice.

Emile pushed back the figure, falling backwards against one of the terminal benches.

Sure enough, in front of her stood the skinny figure of a familiar man who she’d only seen inside her head. His dark hair was gelled back, emphasizing the sharp features of his face, and he wore a grey turtleneck and an army green trench coat.

“B-B-Bartemius?”

“Who else?”

Emile couldn’t help but grin through her tears as the body of Bartemius Crouch Junior grinned down at her. He was crouching next to her, but somehow he still managed to be taller.

“Come on Gorska, I don’t look that different,” Bartemius chuckled, laughing as he stood up, offering her his hand.

Hesitantly, she took it and allowed him to pull her up, breaking out into a fresh bout of sobbing as she threw her arms around her friend. He could do nothing but awkwardly pat her back. 

“How are you here?” she managed to sniffle once she’d calmed down a bit, taking a step away from him.

Bartemius gave a noticeable wince. “Don’t you remember what happened?”

Emile rolled her eyes. “Of course I do. Rudolphus killed me.”

Bartemius gave her a patronizing look.

Emile sighed deeply. “Fine, he killed  _ us _ .”

Bartemius cracked a weak smile before turning to look out the window. Above the empty airport the night stars glittered, though far in the horizon the sky was slowly being painted a light blue.

“Do you know what happens once the sun rises?”

Bartemius’s question took Emile by surprise. 

“What’s supposed to happen when the sun rises?” she asked curiously.

“Well, what usually happens when the sun rises?”

Emile gave Bartemius a patronizing look.

“Humor me, please,” he begged quietly.

Emile turned back to the window. “Well, I suppose a new day begins.”

“A new day for you.”

“And for you, too.”

Bartemius said nothing.

“Bartemius?”

He turned his brown eyes towards Emile. “It’s supposed to be your choice. But you don’t have to choose.”

“Choose what?”

“Which one of us dies.”

Emile felt her blood turn cold. She had been expecting this answer, but it wasn’t the one she had wanted. Part of her wanted it to be over, wanted Bartemius to be here to take her to the next life, where they could sit on a beach sassing each other till all trace of them was forgotten from history, and they could fade into nothingness. Or, however it worked.

Emile quickly realized she was crying again. To her surprise, Bartemius didn’t say anything. To her greater surprise, he simply drew her in for a hug.

“I think I like having your physical form around,” Emile spluttered into his shoulder.

Bartemius began to laugh. “Well, I won’t be here much longer.”

The stars outside were beginning to fade.

Bartemius took Emile by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “Em, you’ve got to go back.”

“Why?” Emile looked up at him, distraught. “So more people can die? So I can keep on getting hurt? I don’t want to go back.”

“Yes, you do.”

“Why would I want that?”

“Because you know that people need you. And you have a date with Lee, you did promise him after all.”

Emile stared at Bartemius, her eyes hot. He was right. “But what about you? If I go back, you die.”

Bartemius simply shrugged. “I’ve been dead for a while. No one will miss me.”

“I’ll miss you.”

Her shadow looked at her as if she was joking. “Come on, Em. You hate me.”

Emile chewed on her lip. “I don’t hate you. I hate what you did to me, to my mother and stepfather. But I don’t hate you. I’ve come to understand you.”

Bartemius stared at Emile doubtfully, arms crossed as she lifted her hand to wipe her eyes with her sleeve.

“I’ll miss you,” she sniffled, turning once again to look out the window.

The sky outside was growing lighter. In the distance the clouds were being illuminated by a strained light source.

“Thank you.”

The comment took Emile by surprise. She stared at Bartemius as he took her hands in his own. 

“Emile, you changed me. I was angry before I met you. I wanted to prove myself. I didn’t appreciate all that I had, and everything I could have had. You taught me how to love.”

“You learned from my love?” Emile stared at Bartemius, overwhelmed.

“The love you feel for your friends and family. The love that connects you to them, and them to you. The love you offered me.”

Bartemius stared into Emile’s eyes, eyes that had once been completely green. Outside the clouds were being painted pale yellow.

“You asked me before the battle why I was so much nicer. It’s because I finally realized something. I fell in love with you. Not with your body, but with your mind. It’s amazing how you process everything, remembering the tiniest of details about people. Your thoughts are like stars you fathom into constellations.”

“Who knew you were such a poet?” Emile managed to choke out, tearing up again as she smirked up at him. “How long have you been working on this speech?” 

Bartemius smirked back at her. “A surprisingly long time. Did it work?”

Emile nodded, hesitating a moment before throwing her arms around her friend yet again.

“I’ll miss you, you know.”

“Of course you will, I’m great.”

As the sun peaked over the horizon, Emile was smiling at her friend.

“Wait for me,” she said with a parting peck on the cheek.

Bartemius shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Not like I’ve got much else to do.”

The dead were slowly reappearing around her as she walked away from the terminal window. Her grandfather and father were smiling side by side. Cedric was standing near Snape, though neither of them made any moves to break a heavy silence between them.

“Severus,” Emile slowed down as she neared them, looking her Professor in the eyes. “Why?”

“To save Potter, and the world,” Snape said quietly. “I am sorry, Miss Gorska. I was unable to stop what happened to you and Bartemius.”

Emile flung her arms around the ex-Potions Master. “It’s alright. I’m just glad you weren’t on their side.”

The thin man sniffed before awkwardly putting an arm around his old student. “Harry Potter will most likely explain everything.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Emile vowed as she let go of the professor, giving her cousin a quick hug and a peck on the cheek before continuing towards the airport entrance. 

The rays of sunlight were creeping across the hills. They had nearly reached the airplane meant for Emile.

“Em,” Fred stopped her as she passed him, one hand on her arm. “Don’t leave George alone. He needs someone to help him cope before he can get back up on his feet.”

“How?” Emile managed to choke out as her eyes locked with Freds and her voice cracked.

Fred gave a small shrug, his smile falling as he looked her in the eyes. “Please, don’t let him be alone.”

Emile swallowed but didn’t break eye contact. “I’ll do my best, Fred. But nothing I do can bring you back.”

Fred acknowledged her comment with a smile and an awkward squeeze on the shoulder as Emile hurried towards the large glass doors. The light of the sun was slowly creeping towards her. But she was paused again by the door as she ran into her favorite couple, her heart stopping as she realized what that meant.

“No…”

Tonks gave a sad smile and rubbed Emile’s arm with one hand, her other holding tight onto her husbands. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“You deserved better than this,” Emile said quietly. “Teddy deserved better.”

“Teddy has the love and support of our friends, and his new family,” Remus responded strongly, his eyes betraying the sadness he felt for his abandoned son.

“We’ll make sure he grows up to be a great man,” Emile promised, aware of the sunlight creeping up near the edge of her shadow.

“I’m not too worried,” Tonks smiled, giving Emile a quick hug and shoving her towards the entrance.

As the sunlight reached her shoes, and the sun itself lifted into the azure sky, Emile opened the door to the airport, blinking against the blinding light as she stepped outside. For a moment she saw only white. But as she blinked her eyes she managed to identify the star speckled ceiling of the Great Hall.

“Em!”

“Lee...”

Emile sat up feebly from where she had been lying in an old cot, her head pounding. Yet, her shoulders felt oddly light, as if a large weight had been removed from her head, or rather, her neck.

“You were dead,” Lee whispered, staring at her with scared, round eyes.

“No, I wasn’t,” Emile whispered back, her eyes tearing up. “Lee, he’s gone.”

“He is?”

Emile let out a sob that shook her body, unable to respond to Lee’s question. He leaned forward across the cot and wrapped his arms around her, allowing her to cry into his shoulder in ugly, heaving sobs.

“It’s ok,” Lee was whispering. “It’s over, it’s ok.”

“It’s not over,” Emile whispered, her tears ceasing. “It’s only just beginning.”


	94. The Battle of Hogwarts Part 3

The castle was unnaturally silent. There were no flashes of light now, no bangs or screams or shouts. The flagstones of the deserted entrance hall were stained with blood. Emeralds were scattered all over the floor, along with pieces of marble and splintered wood. Part of the banisters had been blown away. 

The House tables were gone and the room was crowded. The survivors stood in groups, their arms around each other’s necks. The injured were being treated upon the raised platform by Madam Pomfrey and a group of helpers. Firenze was amongst the injured; his flank poured blood and he shook where he lay, unable to stand. 

The dead lay in a row in the middle of the Hall. Emile could not see Fred’s body, because his family surrounded him. George was kneeling at his head; Mrs. Weasley was lying across Fred’s chest, her body shaking, Mr. Weasley stroking her hair while tears cascaded down his cheeks. Angelina was sitting off to the side, her arms wrapped around herself as she sobbed quietly. Emile had a clear view of the bodies lying next to Fred: Remus and Tonks, pale and still and peaceful-looking, apparently asleep beneath the dark, enchanted ceiling.

Further down the row, lying between the sobbing Patil twins, was Lavender Brown. Her hair was carelessly rumpled underneath her, and her milky eyes reflected the enchanted sky above. Not far past her lay Colin Creevey. As Emile watched, McGonagall slowly walked up to the fallen boy and, nodding her head slightly, placed his old camera in his limp hands. The underage wizard was tiny in death.

“Emile,” Lee lay a hand on her shoulder as she looked around the devastation around her, her heart breaking.

“I’m alright,” Emile spoke quietly, turning to Lee. “I spoke to them, I knew.”

“Spoke to them?”

Emile sighed and leaned against Lee, standing on tiptoes to rest her head by his ear. “I promise I’ll explain once everything is over and done.”

Lee nodded, and the two of them walked over to where the Weasleys were grieving together.

As soon as Mrs. Weasley caught sight of her, her sobs turned into shrieks.

“Ghost, a ghost, Emile, you didn’t need to, you could have moved on-”

“Molly,” Emile took the grieving womans hands in her own and held them tightly, looking into her eyes. “I’m not a ghost. I’m alright.”

“B-b-but you were d-d-d…” Molly Weasley couldn’t finish her sentence as Emile wrapped her arms around her, and tears began to stream down her own face. Together, the two of them bawled over the body of Fred, holding each other tightly. George joined them after a moment, and then Ginny, who had just walked in with another student. The four of them sat on the cold stone and cried and cried, until there were no more tears left in them. But they remained there together, foreheads pressed against each others in silent comfort.

At that moment, Hermione ran over to the group from where she and Ron had been together off to the side, comforting each other. 

“Where’s Harry?” She gasped, looking around at all of them. “Has anyone seen Harry?”

They all exchanged a terrified look, first to each other and then around the hall, to the entrance where Neville and Oliver Wood were carrying in bodies of the fallen. The boy who lived was nowhere to be seen.

“Harry Potter is dead.” 

The magnified voice of Voldemort swelled until it pounded in everyone's ears, forcing them to drop what they were holding and cover their ears with their hands.

“He was killed as he ran away, trying to save himself while you lay down your lives for him. We bring you his body as proof that your hero is gone.”

Disbelieving glances were being shot around the room. George’s tear stained, pale, face turned to Emile as she locked eyes with Angelina.

“The battle is won. You have lost half of your fighters. My Death Eaters outnumber you, and the Boy Who Lived is finished. There must be no more war. Anyone who continues to resist, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered, as will every member of their family. Come out of the castle now, kneel before me, and you shall be spared. Your parents and children, your brothers and sisters will live and be forgiven, and you will join me in the new world we shall build together.” 

There was silence in the grounds and from the castle. 

“To the entrance hall!” McGonagall cried, robes lifted as she led what remained of Hogwarts defenses out and into the courtyard.

Casting final glances at the bodies around them, Emile, Lee, and the Weasleys followed suit.

The death eaters were lining up on one side of the grounds, a shadow bearing down on them from behind. Slowly, mutinously, the lumbering shape of a sobbing Hagrid came into view as he followed the Dark Lord into the center of the courtyard.

“NO!”

The scream was the more terrible because no one could have ever expected or dreamed that Professor McGonagall could make such a sound. 

Bellatrix laughed coldly as she watched the heartbroken Deputy Headmaster staring at the crumpled body of Harry Potter, skinny and weak, his glasses askew and black hair ruffled as ever.

Voldemort stood in front of him, a satisfied smirk on his face as he stroked his beloved pet Nagini with one cold, pale, finger.

“No!”

“No!” 

“Harry! HARRY!” 

Ron’s, Hermione’s, and Ginny’s voices were worse than McGonagall’s. In their disbelief, the survivors had been stunned silent, but now their voices rose through the air, echoing the cries of the first few and making up for the cries that should have been there with them. The screamed and yelled all sorts of curses and swears at the Death Eaters, until— 

“SILENCE!” cried Voldemort, and there was a bang and a flash of bright light, and silence was forced upon them all. “It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!”  

Regretfully, Hagrid lowered Harry’s body at Voldemort’s feet, blubbering while he did.

“You see?” said Voldemort, striding backward and forward right beside the place where Harry lay. “Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!” 

“He beat you!” yelled Ron, and the charm broke, and the defenders of Hogwarts were shouting and screaming again until a second, more powerful bang extinguished their voices once more. 

“He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds,” said Voldemort, and there was relish in his voice for the lie, “killed while trying to save himself —” 

Emile was shoved aside as Neville pushed past her, racing for Lord Voldemort with his wand aloft.

“Neville!” She stage whispered after him, attempting to lunge forward but getting held back by the arms of Lee as he wrapped them around her.

Bellatrix reacted before Voldemort could. There was a flash and a bang, and Neville crumpled to the ground, doubled over. 

“And who is this?” Voldemort said in his soft snake’s hiss. “Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?” 

Bellatrix gave a delighted laugh. “It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the Aurors, remember?” 

“Ah, yes, I remember,” said Voldemort, looking down at Neville, who was struggling back to his feet, unarmed and unprotected, standing in the no-man’s-land between the survivors and the Death Eaters. 

“But you are a pureblood, aren’t you, my brave boy?” Voldemort asked Neville, who stood facing him, his empty hands curled in fists. 

“So what if I am?” said Neville loudly. 

“You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable Death Eater,” Voldemorts red eyes were locked with Neville’s. “We need your kind, Neville Longbottom.” 

“I’ll join you when hell freezes over,” said Neville. “Dumbledore’s Army!” he shouted, and there was an answering cheer from the crowd, whom Voldemort’s Silencing Charms seemed unable to hold. 

“Very well,” said Voldemort, and Emile heard more danger in the silkiness of his voice than in the most powerful curse. 

“Neville, you idiot, get out of there,” she whispered, but he didn’t hear her.

“If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head,” Voldemort said quietly, “be it.” 

Voldemort waved his wand. Seconds later, out of one of the castle’s shattered windows, something that looked like a misshapen bird flew through the half light and landed in Voldemort’s hand. He shook the mildewed object by its pointed end and it dangled, empty and ragged: the Sorting Hat. 

“There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts School,” said Voldemort. “There will be no more Houses. The emblem, shield, and colors of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone. Won’t they, Neville Longbottom?” 

He pointed his wand at Neville, who grew rigid and still, then forced the hat onto Neville’s head, so that it slipped down below his eyes. There were movements from the watching crowd in front of the castle, and as one, the Death Eaters raised their wands, holding the fighters of Hogwarts at bay. 

“Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me,” said Voldemort, and with a flick of his wand, he caused the Sorting Hat to burst into flames. 

Screams split the dawn, though Emile wasn’t sure who’s were loudest, Neville’s or her own. Neville was aflame, rooted to the spot, unable to move.

And then many things happened at the same moment. They heard uproar from the distant boundary of the school as what sounded like hundreds of people came swarming over the out of-sight walls and pelted toward the castle, uttering loud war cries. 

At the same time, Grawp came lumbering around the side of the castle and yelled, “HAGGER!” His cry was answered by roars from Voldemort’s giants: They ran at Grawp like bull elephants, making the earth quake. Then came hooves and the twangs of bows, and arrows were suddenly falling amongst the Death Eaters, who broke ranks, shouting their surprise.

In one swift, fluid motion, Neville broke free of the Body-Bind Curse upon him; the flaming hat fell off him and he drew from its depths something silver, with a glittering, rubied handle — 

The slash of the silver blade could not be heard over the roar of the oncoming crowd or the sounds of the clashing giants or of the stampeding centaurs, and yet it seemed to draw every eye. 

With a single stroke Neville sliced off the great snake’s head, which spun high into the air, gleaming in the light flooding from the entrance hall, and Voldemort’s mouth was open in a scream of fury that nobody could hear, and the snake’s body thudded to the ground at his feet.

Then, over the screams and the roars and the thunderous stamps of the battling giants, Hagrid’s yell came loudest of all. 

“HARRY!” Hagrid shouted. “HARRY — WHERE’S HARRY?” 

Chaos reigned. The charging centaurs were scattering the Death Eaters, everyone was fleeing the giants’ stamping feet, and nearer and nearer thundered the reinforcements that had come from who knew where; One could see great winged creatures soaring around the heads of Voldemort’s giants, thestrals and Buckbeak the hippogriff. Dementors hovered in the air, making everything appear colder and darker than ever before. Out of the corner of her eye, Emile caught sight of Angelina, flattened to the ground by a hooded figure.

“NO!”

With a flick of her wand, a brilliant streak of silver flashed out of Emile’s wand, careening with the dementor in the side of its hood. It let out a ghostly shriek as the small, silver, sand cat’s energy pushed it away from Angelina, and Emile ran forward to help her friend up.

“You were dead!” Angelina gasped, staring at Emile with scared eyes.

“No time to explain!” Emile ushered her friend to where everyone was being pushed back into the castle. “And no, I’m not a ghost!”

“But, but that’s not your patronus!” Angelina cried as they ran forward, heads lowered. “Your patronus is a snow leopard!”

“Like I said,” Emile panted, hiding behind a stone pillar for a split second. “I’ll explain later!”

“Was the snow leopard Bartemius’s?” Angelina gasped, grabbing Emile’s arm before she got to run off.

“I… I think so,” Emile looked Angelina in the eyes. “I guess mine’s a sand cat.”

“A desert animal,” Angelina shook her head, smiling despite herself. “Lee’s is another desert animal.”

“Angie, we’re in the middle of a battle,” Emile smiled despite her exasperated tone as Angelina winked and ran off towards the entrance hall.

And now there were even more people storming up the front steps, Charlie Weasley leading the charge alongside a pajama clad professor. He seemed to have returned at the head of what looked like the families and friends of every Hogwarts student who had remained to fight, along with the shopkeepers and homeowners of Hogsmeade. 

The centaurs Bane, Ronan, and Magorian burst into the hall with a great clatter of hooves, as the door that led to the kitchens was blasted off its hinges. 

The house-elves of Hogwarts swarmed into the entrance hall, screaming and waving carving knives and cleavers, and at their head was Kreacher, his bullfrog’s voice audible even above this din: “Fight! Fight! Fight for my Master, defender of house-elves! Fight the Dark Lord, in the name of brave Regulus! Fight!” 

They were hacking and stabbing at the ankles and shins of Death Eaters, their tiny faces alive with malice, and everywhere you looked Death Eaters were folding under sheer weight of numbers, overcome by spells, dragging arrows from wounds, stabbed in the leg by elves, or else simply attempting to escape, but swallowed by the oncoming horde. 

George, Lee, and Emile were pushing back Yaxley when a familiar shadow caught Emile’s eye. Rudolphus Lestrange was rushing to aid Bellatrix in her battle with Mrs. Weasley.

“Rudolphus!” Emile’s voice boomed down the hall, over the noise of the battle. It caught the Death Eaters attention, because he turned on heel, face pale and scared.

“Rudolphus!” Emile shrieked again, running towards the death eater. He backed away, slowly, but then stood still, confused but holding his ground.

“You-you’re dead!” Rudolphus shouted, wand half raised as if he wasn’t sure if he would need it or not.

“No, I’m not!” Emile shouted, blasting him with a spell so strong it sent him flying down the hall and into the Ravenclaw hourglass, sending sapphires scattering across the floor.

“H-how?” Rudolphus looked up at her, scared and bleeding from the glass shards embedded in his cheek.

“You know how,” Emile’s voice was hollow, low, deadly. “You of all people know there is, or, I’m sorry, was, more to me.”

“Bart…” Rudolphus’s face went from shock to denial to rage in a matter of seconds. “Are you kidding me? Why won’t you just die?”

“Because I have something worth living for,” Emile bore down on Rudolphus, her face empty of emotion. “I have my friends. I have family. I have love. You? Your own wife doesn’t even love you. She slept with the Dark Lord. She had his child—”

“Watch your tongue!” Rudolphus hissed, pointing his wand at Emile.

“Watch your wand!” Emile yelled, snatching his from him before he could react. “You are going to sit, and listen.”

Face streaming blood, Rudolphus glared up at Emile. 

“You, not you specifically, but your group, took away my mother, my father, my cousin,” Emile looked Rudolphus in the eyes as she spoke. “But today you took away something much, much worst. You took away my closest friend, someone who was literally a part of me.” 

Rudolphus said nothing, but his eyes began to widen in fear. He could sense the controlled anger behind Emile’s words, it sounded very much like the Dark Lord’s, and he was unwilling to see what would happen if he drew it out.

“Why are you like this?” Emile sighed, lowering the wands. “Why are any of you like this?”

“You… you remember the manor, right?”

Emile nodded once, looking Rudolphus in the eyes.

“How did it feel?” Rudolphus queried as their eye contact maintained. “How was it to be part of something bigger, to have someone to believe in? To be appreciated in your efforts to make a dream become a reality?”

Emile paused for a moment, taking in his words.

Rudolphus blinked once, the ghost of an understanding smile flickering on his blood soaked face. “Exactly.”

Before Emile could respond, a deafening growl sounded above her, rattling the walls of the castle. She looked up in time to see a foot the size of her father's car descending on top of her, and she dove out of the way.

Rudolphus didn’t have time to move.

When Emile turned around Rudolphus was unconscious, and his feet were surrounded by a pool of blood. 

Grabbing hold of some broken centaur arrows and strips of tapestry nearby, Emile did her best to tie a tourniquet on both of his legs, and made a note to come back for this odd death eater when she next had a chance to. 

“HE’S ALIVE!”

“Harry!”

“Harry Potter?!”

“He’s dueling Voldemort!”

Emile pushed her way through the crowd of onlookers watching the Dark Lord and Harry in time to hear the spells that would change the history of Hogwarts.

“Avada Kedavra!” 

“Expelliarmus!” 

The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Voldemort’s green jet meet Harry’s own spell, and the Elder Wand flew high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini.

Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. The Dark Lord hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell. 

One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him, and the first to reach him were Ron and Hermione, their incomprehensible shouts deafening him. Then Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there, and then all the Weasleys and Emile and Lee and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and no one could make out a word that anyone was shouting. All of them determined to touch, hug, congratulate the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was over at last.


	95. The Immediate Aftermat

It took Emile several hours to locate Harry Potter in the chaos that followed. Every time she thought she could catch him someone more important or closer to him would pull him aside, eager to congratulate him or hear his story or introduce him to a person of higher power. He had, after all, defeated the Dark Lord and ended his horrific reign.

“Harry!” Emile half gasped, half shouted as he began to turn away from her, grabbing hold of his arm. “Please, I know there’s so much happening, but I need to talk to you.”

“Emile,” the Boy Who Lived turned to her, exhausted, “I can answer any questions about the hallows or whatever later. All I want, and need, now, is to get some sleep for Merlin’s sake.”

“It’s about Severus Snape!” Emile cried out as he began to walk away from her.

Harry paused immediately, turning on his heel to face her. “Snape?”

Emile nodded fervently. “I spoke to him—”

“You what?”

“In the afterlife.”

“You WHAT?”

“He said you would have the answers to my questions,” Emile begged, casting pleading eyes up a Harry.

“Not till you answer my questions,” Harry insisted, grabbing her arm and pulling her away through the school.

“Where are we— ”

“Headmaster's office.”

Silently, the two of them trekked through the castle. They remained quiet, but with every step they took someone was congratulating Harry, or apologizing for his losses, or reminding that it was for the greater good.

**What about** **_my_ ** **loss?**

Emile wanted to scream at them all.

The stone gargoyle blocking the door to the headmaster’s office was on the floor, half of its face embedded in the rock. It barely even acknowledged Harry as he stepped over him and climbed the winding staircase up to the office.

“Harry?” Emile asked quietly as they entered the office.

“How?” He whipped around arms crossed. “How did you die and come back to life? You didn’t have the resurrection stone, you’re not a… a…”

“A horcrux?” Emile gave a sad smile and sunk down into the plush headmaster's chair, turning her head to clearly show the lightning bolt scar on her neck. “Not anymore.”

“How long have you known?” Harry said quietly, sitting down in a chair across the desk from her. 

“Known what?” Emile tipped her head to the side and stared the the newfound hero.

Harry gave her an exasperated look. “That you’re a horcrux? Actually, no. How long have you known about horcrux’s?”

“Since… fifth year?” Emile squinted her eyes as she did the math. “Yes, so about—”

“Four years,” Harry sighed, sinking into his chair. “All this time, I could have come to you for answers…”

“That would have been dangerous,” Emile grumbled, thinking back at how much Bartemius revealed about her life to the death eaters. “But wait, Harry, did you honestly not hear people talking about this? Did you not know that that was why I had to be rescued from Malfoy Manor?”

“No,” Harry stared at her with an expression of astonishment so sincere that Emile couldn’t help but burst out laughing. After a few moments of confusion, Harry joined in. They laughed and laughed until they fell out of the chairs and onto the floor, chests heaving as they gasped for breath and wiped tears from their eyes.

“But seriously,” Emile wheezed as they sat up, finally getting their shit together, “tell me about Severus.”

Harry wordlessly stood up and walked over to a swirling pensieve in the corner, checking inside before beckoning Emile over to him. She slowly stood up and walked over to the swirling silver water.

“Are these…?” Emile couldn’t even finish the question.

But Harry understood. He nodded once and took a step back, allowing Emile to lean over the pensieve herself.

The silver memories swirled lazily in the water, illuminating Emile’s face and reflecting back off of her glasses. Here and there, the memories shone through the silver sheen, a greasy haired boy, a ginger girl, Lord Voldemort in his prime.

Taking a deep breath, Emile leaned forward and stuck her face into the potion, eyes sealed shut as she felt the magic rush around her and transport her to a different place and time.

She opened her eyes to warmth.

Sunlight bathed the cozy park she was standing in.  A single huge chimney dominated the distant skyline. Two girls were swinging backward and forward, and a skinny boy was watching them from behind a clump of bushes. His black hair was overlong and his clothes were so mismatched that it looked deliberate: too short jeans, a shabby, overlarge coat that might have belonged to a grown man, an odd smock-like shirt. 

Snape was no more than nine years old.

Emile watched Snape’s poor attempt to interact with Lily Evans, feeling pity swell in her stomach. She wanted nothing more than to run forward and give Snape a hug, and protect him from the evil that was doomed to come.

Then the scene dissolved, and Emile couldn’t help but grin at how Snape and Lily eagerly talked about the magical world, and the Ministry, and especially Hogwarts. His eyes shone as he watched Lily Evans, and Emile couldn’t help but feel a tear streak down her cheek, hot and salty.

Then came the scene at the Hogwarts Express. Lily argued with her sister, explaining Petunia’s deep dislike of wizarding kind. Snape attempted, poorly, to console her as they headed onto the magnificent train and sat in a compartment with two other boys, James and Sirius.

Snape was always on the sidelines, watching longingly as Lily got sorted into Gryffindor, and as James and his friends got in all sorts of trouble. Eventually he resulted to befriending several future Death Eaters, much to Lily’s dislike. 

Then came the torturous Mudblood scene.

She watched as Lily joined the group and went to Snape’s defense. Distantly she heard Snape shout at her in his humiliation and his fury, the unforgivable word: “Mudblood.” 

The scene changed. . . . 

“I’m sorry.” 

“I’m not interested.” 

“I’m sorry!” 

“Save your breath.” 

It was nighttime. Lily, who was wearing a dressing gown, stood with her arms folded in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower. “I only came out because Mary told me you were threatening to sleep here.” 

“I was. I would have done. I never meant to call you Mudblood, it just —” 

“Slipped out?” There was no pity in Lily’s voice. “It’s too late. I’ve made excuses for you for years. None of my friends can understand why I even talk to you. You and your precious little Death Eater friends — you see, you don’t even deny it! You don’t even deny that’s what you’re all aiming to be! You can’t wait to join You-Know-Who, can you?” 

He opened his mouth, but closed it without speaking. 

“I can’t pretend anymore. You’ve chosen your way, I’ve chosen mine.” 

“No — listen, I didn’t mean —” 

“— to call me Mudblood? But you call everyone of my birth Mudblood, Severus. Why should I be any different?” 

He struggled on the verge of speech, but with a contemptuous look she turned and climbed back through the portrait hole. . . .

Emile couldn’t watch as the adult Snape came pleading to Dumbledore, a man barely older than she was now. He had made a mistake, he was sincere. 

She was struggling not to break out in tears.

She watched as Severus grieved with Dumbledore, agreeing half heartedly to watch for Harry when the time came. She watched as Snape’s loathing for Harry grew, once he realized how much like his father Harry really was. But Snape couldn’t let go of those green eyes.

She watched as Dumbledore forced Snape to promise to kill him, to spare Draco Malfoy’s life. She saw Snape’s double life, and the contempt in his voice as he questioned Dumbledore on his activities with Harry.

“So the boy . . . the boy must die?” asked Snape quite calmly. 

“And Voldemort himself must do it, Severus. That is essential.” 

Another long silence. Then Snape said, “I thought . . . all these years . . . that we were protecting him for her. For Lily.” 

And then Snape’s rage with Dumbledore became apparent. His heart, which was rarely visible to anyone, was completely visible to Dumbledore; open and vulnerable.

“But this is touching, Severus,” said Dumbledore seriously. “Have you grown to care for the boy, after all?” 

“For him?” shouted Snape. “Expecto Patronum!” 

From the tip of his wand burst the silver doe: She landed on the office floor, bounded once across the office, and soared out of the window. Dumbledore watched her fly away, and as her silvery glow faded he turned back to Snape, and his eyes were full of tears. 

“After all this time?” 

“Always,” said Snape. 

Emile sobbed.

She watched Snape backing the Order in any way he could, messing with the mind of one of its members for the good of the group. She watched as they flew through the night, hovering mere meters between Snape and where Bartemius soared along on his broom. George’s ear spun down towards the earth, and the hot tears in her eyes prevented her from seeing the next memory clearly.

When she wiped her eyes of her tears, Emile saw Snape talking to Dumbledore’s portrait, the sword of Gryffindor in one hand and a traveling cloak in the other. 

“And you still aren’t going to tell me why it’s so important to give Potter the sword?” said Snape as he swung a traveling cloak over his robes. 

“No, I don’t think so,” said Dumbledore’s portrait. “He will know what to do with it. And Severus, be very careful, they may not take kindly to your appearance after George Weasley’s mishap —” 

Snape turned at the door. “Don’t worry, Dumbledore,” he said coolly. “I have a plan. . . .” 

Emile watched as he went out the door, waiting for the memory to change. But no change came. 

She felt around with her hands, grabbing for the end of the Pensieve, when a small rat caught her eye, wandering through the memories like a lost stranger. It paused in front of her, sniffing her nose with its tiny whiskers.

“Carrot?” Emile whispered, re-adjusting her glasses.

As soon as the word was uttered, a new cycle of memories began.

There was Snape, watching from a corner the older students file into the school, dull eyes scanning the crowd impatiently.

And there was Emile, walking dutifully alongside Cedric and Cho Chang, a small smile on her face as she pretended to listen. 

As her green eyes met Snape’s, the headmaster took a step back, shocked. She could almost hear his thoughts.

Those green eyes…

Her aptitude in potions over the years didn’t fail to impress him, and Professor Snape seemed to be unable to be mean to the second green eyed Gryffindor of that year. 

She watched as Snape gave her Carrot, and graded the papers of Gryffindors, actually taking time to go over hers unlike most of the other papers. 

Then the memory changed to the Great Hall, where Snape was making his way towards the staff table, long robes sweeping along behind him.

Suddenly, the flames in the fireplace to his left turned a bright green, and a silhouette spun out of the fireplace, crashing to the ground. Ginger hair was blocking the appearance of the newcomer, but green eyes shone up at him through the mess of locks.

Was this a ghost?

“L-Lilly?”

“Sorry?”

Emile remembered 7this moment, as she watched herself stand up and put her glasses back on, blinking at the Professor. 

Snape managed to pull himself together and send her on her way, but the haunting familiarity in her appearance unnerved him. Emile watched as she obviously tried again and again to get Snape’s attention, during class and in the halls, and he did his best to keep out of her way.

Then came the mishap with Bartemius, and Snape couldn’t help but stay close to Emile. As close as he dared to be, anyways. He kept tabs on Bartemius while they practiced legimency, often having conversations with the creature while Emile attempted to fight against his mind. 

And fight back she did.

“She hasn’t come in for weeks,” Snape said to Dumbledore one evening, pacing the bedroom. “She believes that she doesn’t need my training any more, that she’s as good as she can get.”

“Is she right?” Dumbledore asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

“No!” Snape cried, arms in the air. They slowly lowered as he refused to meet Dumbledore’s gaze. “Well… maybe…”

Dumbledore chuckled slightly, turning to a book on his desk.

“She’s definitely more advanced than Potter,” Snape insisted as he walked towards the door.

“Of course,” Dumbledore’s response was neutral, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. “Careful now, Severus. We wouldn’t want to think you’ve grown to care for a student.”

Snape said nothing as he swept out of the room.

Emile felt the scene change around her to something half familiar. It was Snape’s office, where a drunk Snape was watching Bartemius escort the concealed Lee and Fred down the hall.

“How is she?” came a voice from a portrait behind the desk.

“Not good,” Snape replied, not taking his eyes off of Bartemius.

“How much longer until it’s irreversible?”

Snape watched as Bartemius disappeared before slowly turning to Dumbledore. “It may already be irreversible.”

The memory faded away to nothing, leaving Emile floating alone in the pool. Slowly, she stepped away from the pensieve, drying her face with a flick of her wrist. It made sense now. She wasn’t special to Professor Snape, she just looked like the woman he had loved. Favoritism at it’s finest.

As she had returned to the great hall, Emile was beckoned over by Kingsley Shacklebolt.

“Emile,” he rumbled in his deep voice. “I need people to search the castle for any lingering dangers. Will you take Lee and George and scour the dungeons?”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to take George?” Emile asked in a whisper, her eyes darting to where her friend was sitting by the body of his twin, looking up at the enchanted ceiling with a stony expression on his face.

Kingsley followed her gaze and nodded. “He needs something to get his mind off of this.”

With a sigh, Emile walked over to George and ran a hand along his shoulders, rubbing his back slowly. “You doing alright?”

“What kind of a question is that?” George frowned at her, irritated.

Emile drew her hand away from him sharply, hurt. “Come on, Kingsley needs us to check out the dungeons.”

“Just us?”

“Lee too.”

“He’s out with Oliver gathering bodies.”

“Then yes, just us.”

Nodding once, George stood up and gave himself a small shake before taking Emile by the arm and pulling her out of the hall. Together, they made their way down the crumbling stairs, climbing over bodies of people, spiders, and even one of a smaller than average giant.

“He’s nowhere near as small as Grawp,” Emile tried to joke, but George’s eyes were glazed over, and he wasn’t listening to a thing she said.

Emile tried not to sigh as she followed George into the dungeons in heavy silence.

“Let’s split up,” George suggested in a tone that made it sound more like a command.

“I don’t think that’s-”

“It’ll go faster,” George insisted. Not bothering to wait for a response, he turned away and went down the hall to their right without bothering to look back, leaving Emile to shrug and go left, towards the potions classroom. 

The dusty hall, lined with scattered rock and broken glass, seemed to have gotten through the fight without a scratch, though here and there the obvious scorch stains on the walls revealed that Ernie had succesfull gotten to Slughorn's potions. There were no bodies in the classrooms, no lurking presences hiding behind the pillars. 

Having cleared her half of the hall, Emile wandered down the other half, looking for George. She checked every room as she went, sticking her head in and scanning the empty classrooms one by one, until she found the one he was in.

It looked like an unused classroom. The dark shapes of desks and chairs were piled against the walls, and there was an upturned wastepaper basket - but propped against the wall facing her was something that didn't look as if it belonged there, something that looked as if someone had just put it there to keep it out of the way. It was a magnificent mirror, as high as the ceiling, with an ornate gold frame, standing on two clawed feet. There was an inscription carved around the top: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. 

“Oh, no,” Emile whispered, staring at where George stood, transfixed in the mirror’s reflection.

“Isn’t it funny?” He smirked, glancing her way. “From the way it’s presented, you would assume it’s a magical mirror, wouldn’t you?”

“What?” Emile was flabbergasted. Did he not recognize the mirror?

“It’s just my reflection,” George smiled and shook his head, looking in the mirror. “There’s nothing special here.”

Trembling, Emile reached out with her mind, sneaking into George’s and seeing through his eyes. 

He was right. The reflection in the mirror had ginger hair and brown eyes. It had a dazed, goofy smile as it watched George with one raised eyebrow.

What George didn’t realize was that the reflection was barely an inch taller than him. The reflection had both of his ears.

Getting out of George’s mind, Emile took a step backwards, shaking slightly. “George… we should go.”

“What?”

“We have to go, now!”

George turned to look at Emile, confusion in his eyes as he took in how hard she was shaking, how scared her eyes were. “Em? It’s just a mirror.”

“It’s not,” Emile shook her head, closing her eyes. “George, please.”

“Come here,” George insisted, grabbing hold of her arm and tugging her towards the pane of polished silver.

“Stop!” Emile cried out as George yanked on her arm, causing her to stumble forward, in front of the mirror.

She didn’t have time to close her eyes.

“See?” George looked at his reflection in the mirror, but Emile couldn’t see it.

She was standing in the dark classroom still, but in the mirror she was in a sunlit forest. She could almost feel the sun warming her skin. Behind her was Nepeta, ears laid back as she waited dutifully underneath the tree house with Achilles perched on her head. Cedric was there too, petting Nepeta as he spoke animatedly with Darren. Fred, George, Angelina, and Lee were all sitting on the grass, laughing as they tossed a quaffle back and forth. Snape was in the corner, speaking with Emile’s mother and father, who both looked happy and in love.

But standing next to her, holding her hand…

Barty.

Emile ran out of the room, sobbing. She ran up the stairs, past the great hall, climbing higher and higher until she reached the astronomy tower. Up here the wind was blowing, tossing about her brown hair and stinging her tear streaked face. The tower itself leaned with the wind, and Emile stood at the edge, letting the wind push against her.

**You had to die.**

**You always give up.**

Naturally, there was no response.

**What am I supposed to do now? I’m supposed to be strong, but I lost someone too. I want to be weak. I want to be broken.**

Silence.

**I know George needs someone to be with him right now. But does it have to be me? Can’t I just wait for everything to be over?**

Emile knew what Bartemius would say, even without him being there.

**It’s never over.**


	96. Three Months Later

The front door to Weasleys Wizard Wheezes jingled merrily as another pair of children ran inside, dragging a rather bedraggled looking mother behind them.

Emile couldnt help but groan from behind the front desk; she was just about to close up shop.

“Only one thing each!” the witch called out, adjusting her hat as she watched the two children race off amongst the empty shop.

In the three months since Voldemort’s defeat, the infamous joke shop had grown increasingly busier. As adults recovered from the shock of having their government taken over by the Death Eater overlord, so did the children that were forced to attend Hogwarts under his rule. Now that September was just weeks away, first through seventh years alike were excited for a new start at a new Hogwarts with a new Headmaster, Professor McGonagall. 

Hogwarts had been closed off all summer. The new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had restorations to the school happening as soon as July 1st. He, along with a majority of the aurors, and the infamous Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, were scouring the country for any of the remaining Death Eaters. Hermione Granger was returning to Hogwarts, intent on finishing her education. Ginny was thrilled to be learning alongside her old friend.

George was coping with the loss of Fred. Though his first few weeks had been rough, he eventually found a way of dealing with the daily outbreaks of anger and sadness, much to Mrs. Weasley’s disapproval.

“Your hair!” She had shrieked in anger when Emile, George, and Angelina came to the Burrow for a visit.

George’s ginger hair had been dyed a vibrant blonde, and he shuffled his feet uncomfortably as his mother gawked at her son.

“Why?” She managed to choke out, exasperated.

George couldn’t look his mother in the eyes. “I kept thinking it was him in the mirror…”

Mrs. Weasley covered her mouth, went to her bedroom, and didn’t emerge for an hour.

Angelina had moved in with Emile and George, courteously staying on the living room sofa until one of them finally got up the courage to open the door to Fred’s bedroom and clear it out.

That may not happen for a while.

Emile’s apprenticeship with Ollivander had resumed. She was making wands herself now, and Ollivander continued to recover from his ordeal with Lord Voldemort. His son, Garrick Jr., had made up with his father, and was often around caring for him. When he was unable to be there to cook and clean for Ollivander, Emile did what she could, but Ollivander wasn’t the same with Emile as he was with his son and grandkids.

Angelina, though she had been invited to join a professional Quidditch team, stayed in Diagon Alley. She was a part time employee for Madame Malkins, working three days of the week there, and the other three working days she spent at Gringotts. A survivor of the Battle of Hogwarts was invaluable to any security force these days, or so it seemed.

George was struggling to say the least. He didn’t opened the store for six weeks after the battle, he hadn’t even looked at it. The grinning Weasley with a top hat out front had remained dormant, it’s haunting smile watching Diagon Alley come back to life with an aura of gloom.

Angelina and Emile had taken it upon themselves one thursday to clean up the shop; washing windows, dusting shelves, tossing out expired merchandise. When they finished the store looked good as new, if not for the bare shelves. There wasn’t enough merchandise to fill the store, but it was enough to keep them on their feet.

They convinced George to help with their grand reopening of the store, convinced that the crowd of children and adults gathered outside his windows in excitement would reawaken the old Weasley vibe, and it seemed to work. Or so they thought. 

That evening, the smiling, interactive George they had missed so much became a silent and mutinous presence. He dubiously filled out order forms for new supplies before locking himself in his room. He didn’t re-emerge until the morning, his fists raw and bloodied.

“The window needs replacing,” was all he would say to them.

Emile sighed and leaned back against the register. She was watching Weasleys Wizards Wheezes, and also George, while Angelina worked at Gringotts. The Weasley was in the back, hypothetically unloading their first delivery of joking goods in a long while, but he didn’t know about the mirror Emile had placed in the corner of the store room. She could see George sitting at the foot of the stairs, absentmindedly staring into a box of Weasleys Wildfire Whiz-bangs. 

There was arguing from behind Emile as the mother that had entered the shop dragged her kids out without purchasing anything, a scowl on her face as her children sobbed. The bell gave a jingle as she stormed out, and the door slowly shut behind them.

With a sigh, Emile stood up and walked over to the entrance to the shop, absentmindedly leaning against the window. Night was falling on Diagon Alley, and the multicolored smoke swirling from the chimneys was tainting the air with smells of painfully delicious food. It was closing time.

Emile locked up the shop, set security alarms, and went to the storage room. George was still sitting on the stairs, and sat up with a start as she came in.

“You’ve looked better,” he attempted to joke, brown eyes flickering over her gaunt face.

Emile shrugged and sank onto the step next to George, looking down in the box.

“You alright?” He pressed, nudging her in the side.

Emile responded with a shake of her head and a sigh.

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Do you?” Emile looked up at George, eyes linking with his.

George was silent for a moment before he reached up and pushed Emile’s hair away from her face with one hand. “Did you know that your eyes have changed?”

“I do,” Emile nodded, a small smile on her face. Lee had told her several times about her now hazel eyes. Not all of Bartemius—

Emile felt a shiver go up her spine as she turned away from George, hunched over. Bartemius was gone. She wouldn’t see him again. She had to stop thinking about him.

But knowing he was dead didn’t stop Emile from absentmindedly rubbing her neck. It didn’t stop her from remembering the times he had actually been helpful. She still asked questions in her head, eagerly awaiting a response, but only getting silence.

“I know you haven’t been sleeping well.”

George’s comment took her by surprise, causing Emile to whip her head around towards him, eyes wide.

George sighed and rolled his eyes. “Em, I’m depressed, not stupid. And my room is right by yours, I can hear you in there at night.”

“Um, creepy?” Emile attempted to joke, giving George a half smile. 

He didn’t return it.

“Why can’t you sleep?” he queried, leaning towards her slightly.

“Why can’t you?” Emile countered, leaning away from the Weasley.

George sighed and leaned back against the railing of the stairs, looking up at Emile. “I know you. You’re upset and there’s a lot going on, but whatever happens I want you to still be able to talk to me.”

“George,” Emile stood up, looking down at the Weasley. “I’ll start talking to you, once you start talking to me.”

“Em,” George started talking but broke off as Emile run off up the stairs, darting into her room and grabbing her mokeskin pouch before heading back down the stairs and out the shop doors, nearly crashing into Angelina as she passed.

“Where—”

“Ollivanders,” Emile interrupted, not pausing to welcome Angelina home. “He’s fine but grouchy. Dinner’s in the fridge, i'll be back to eat.”

Emile was aware of Angelina watching her as she stalked off up the alleyway, but she didn’t stop to look back.

The distracting individuality of each shop on Diagon Alley was slowly returning. Even the ice cream shop had been reopened by a determined entrepreneur attempting to carry on Florean Fortesque’s dairy legacy. Clothing stores were restocking with new robes and clothes, and someone had even opened a muggle clothing store in an attempt to integrate muggle fashion in with wizards. 

The bell to Ollivanders jingled as Emile went into the store, breathing in the familiar scent of wood shavings and polish. The store itself was doing much better now that Emile had it back to its organized self, though with the steady flow of young witches and wizards it was difficult to maintain the organized state of the store.

Emile pointed to a small stack of wand boxes in the corner and flicked her wrist, sending them back to their rightful spot as she summoned several rolls of parchment, her inkpot, and her favorite quill. 

“To whom it may concern,” Emile spoke aloud to herself as she scribbled out her letter. “I, Emile Gorska, am very flattered by your generous offer, but it is with a heavy heart that I was deny this amazing opportunity laid out before me.”

Emile stopped and read over the letter, frowning. “That’s awful.”

Crumpling up the parchment, Emile tossed it into the nearly filled wastebasket behind her.

“Uagadao School Board,” Emile frowned, reading over the first three words again before tossing out that strip of parchment as well.

“Headmaster Akingbade, I was deeply humbled to receive your proposal. You will be more than happy to hear that I have decided to accept your proposition, and will be arriving at your school within a fortnight-”

“You aren’t writing more of those letters, are you?” 

Emile whipped around, covering the freshly written note with her hand and looking innocently at Mr. Ollivander. “No…”

Ollivander sighed and hobbled over to the counter, sitting back into his hair he had placed by the register. Sticking his hand out, he beckoned her over to him. Emile grudgingly took a few steps closer to him and sat down on the counter.

“I was under the impression that we had discussed this,” Ollivander’s eyes twinkled as he looked up at Emile.

“We did discuss it,” Emile sighed, not meeting Ollivander’s eyes. “We never confirmed anything, but we did discuss it.”

“You want to do it.”

“But I have a responsibility.”

“There’s no reason George and Angelina wouldn’t be able to handle themselves.”

“But—”

“If Lee loves you then he’ll wait for your return.”

“But what if—”

“Then I have no doubt he’ll want to go be with you.”

Emile moaned and fell back on the counter, lying across with her head looking out the window upside down. 

“What about you?”

Mr. Ollivander paused and looked Emile up and down. “Sweetheart, I’m not that old.”

Emile said nothing as she sat up and looked at her mentor, one eyebrow raised.

“Don’t give me that look, young lady,” Ollivander huffed, glaring at Emile as she smirked back at him.

The door to the shop jingled, causing Emile to whip around and stare at the newcomer with a red face as she attempted to hide the papers next to her, to Ollivanders amusement.

“Lee Jordan,” Mr. Ollivander leaned forward to shake Lee’s hand in greeting. “My dear boy, how have you been?”

“Coping, Mr. Ollivander, sir,” Lee grinned at Ollivander before looking quizzically at Emile. “Are you almost done?”

“No,” Emile sighed, sitting down on the parchment. “I don’t want to go back to the apartment.”

“I’ll stay here then,” Lee hopped onto the counter next to her. 

“I think I’ll retire for the evening,” Ollivander wheezed, slowly standing up. “Emile, I trust you’ll clean, be honest, and close up?”

“Of course,” Emile nodded, watching Ollivander hobble towards the stairs. “Will you be able to climb those?”

“Don’t insult him,” Lee scoffed, elbowing Emile in the side. 

“Thank you, Lee,” Ollivander called down the stairwell.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to Ollivander climb up the stairs slowly, the door to his flat swinging shut behind him.

“Now,” Lee turned to Emile, looking at her expectantly. “You’re keeping something from me.”

Emile moaned and fell down onto the floor on the shop, rolling under the counter.

“Come on, how old are you?” Lee called down, sticking his head under the counter.

“Almost nineteen,” Emile grumbled, crossing her arms. 

“So, old enough to have an adult conversation?”

“Don’t insult me,” Emile sniffed, climbing out and grabbing the pieces of parchment, sitting down in Ollivanders abandoned chair. “Alright… I don’t know if you’re going to like this though.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing bad,” Lee grinned down at her and leaned forward, resting his head on his hands. “Now, spill.”

“Well…” Emile fiddled with her hair, looking down at the smudged parchment in front of her. “I’ve been having… dreams.”

“Dreams,” Lee frowned, confused. “Not about-”

“No, no,” Emile shook her head. “This has nothing to do with B- with my horcrux.”

Lee nodded, brown eyes studying hers as Emile let out a shaky sigh. Slowly, she removed a small stone from her pocket and placed it in Lee’s lap.

“What’s this?” Lee asked quizzically, examining the rock in front of him.

“Its an opal from Uganda,” Emile said slowly, hoping she wouldn’t have to explain.

“Did Dumi send it to you?” Lee looked up at her, confusion apparent on his face. 

“In a way,” Emile grumbled her foot twitching impatiently.

“Then what-”

“I’ve been selected to teach wandlore at Uagadou!” Emile burst out, unable to contain her anxiety.

Lee stared at her, dumbfounded.

“The opal was given to me by a dream oracle sent by the headmaster, Headmaster Akingbade,” Emile sighed, slouching in the chair. “They want me to teach wandlore.”

“Well… thats…” Lee couldn’t find any words to say.

“I know,” Emile sighed, closing her eyes.

They waited in silence for a few minutes, minds racing. 

“Are you going to do it?” Lee asked quietly, breaking the silence.

“I want to,” Emile whispered, looking up at him. “But you, and George, and Angie-”

“You should absolutely take it,” Lee interrupted, looking at Emile. “You’d be crazy not to.”

“I—”

A shriek from above cut off Emile’s response as a rather bedraggled looking Achilles swooped down into the store, a scroll tied to his foot. He landed softly on the counter butting Lee’s arm with his head in greeting before hopping over onto Emile, nipping her shirt softly.

“Thank you, Achilles,” Emile grinned, untying the burden from the owl’s leg. “My room is open if you want to go back, but don’t stay out all night.”

Achille’s ruffled his pinfeathers once before taking off, flying back out the store window. 

“Who’s that from?” Lee queried, leaning over to read the letter upside down.

“Dumi,” Emile smiled. “I asked him if he’s the one who put me up to this.”

“And?”

Emile grumbled as she read the letter, frowning to herself. “He had outside help.”

“Who?”

“Ollivander.”

“No… senior?”

“Mhm.”

“Damn.”

“Mhm.”

Lee watched Emile as she sunk deeper into the chair with a sigh. “Em, you have to take it.”

“But—”

“We’ll be fine, I promise. I’ll make George understand.”

Emile groaned and planted her face into the counter in front of her. After a few moments of silence, she felt Lee’s hands slowly stroking her hair.

“Don’t pet me,” she mumbled into the wood. “It’s patronizing.”

“You need to go tell George and Angie.”

Emile moaned into the wood.

“You also need to write and say you accept.”

Emile moaned even louder.

“Em, come on. This is an amazing opportunity.”

Emile sighed and sat up, pouting up at Lee. “But… but I’ll miss you.”

Lee smiled down at her and put his hand against her cheek. “I’ll miss you too. You know that.”

Emile let out another groan.

“Shut up!” came Ollivander shout from upstairs, causing them both to jump in fright. “I don’t know what you two are doing, but the muffliato charm wouldn’t be enough to keep those moans down!”

Emile’s face grew hot as both she and Lee exchanged a glance, and burst out laughing.

“Alright then, shall we go?” Lee stood up straight and offered his hand down to Emile.

Emile let out a giggle as she took his hand and pulled herself up. “We shall.”

Angelina and George were setting up dinner when Emile and Lee came into the apartment. Setting out two more plates was easy enough to do, but the two were incredibly confused when Emile and Lee broke out glasses and a bottle of mead.

“Are we celebrating something?” George asked, sharing a confused glance with Angelina.

“Life, my friend,” Emile chortled, pouring the mead with one hand as Lee began passing around a platter of baked potatoes. 

Angelina and George exchanged a confused glance as Emile took a few slices of ham and cranberry sauce from the center of the table.

Dinner seemed to drag on; Emile helped herself to much too much mead and too much food for her small body. Lee kept asking if she was alright, to which Emile would laugh and take a swig of mead. 

“Dessert, anyone?” Emile smiled as she summoned a custard pie from the fridge.

“When did we get this?” Angelina queried, looking from Emile to George.

“I stress cooked it last night,” Emile said with a smile. 

Angelina shot Lee a worried look as Emile began dicing up the pie.

“Em?” George leaned over and put his hand on her arm.

The pie and plates Emile was levitating trembled as George’s arm came in contact with Emile, but remained airborne. 

Silently, Emile lowered the pie and slices of food down to her friends, avoiding their gaze. She had an upset feeling in her stomach, and it wasn’t because of the food and alcohol content.

“Em,” Lee repeated as he put his hand on Emile’s squeezing it tightly.

“I…” Emile swallowed, unable to meet the eyes of George and Angelina. “I’m leaving.”

There was a heavy silence in the room.

“W-what?” Angelina leaned across the table and put her hand on top of George’s. “Is it because of us?”

“Wh-what? No!”

“Is it because of me?” George croaked hoarsely, his eyes staring off into space. 

“No, NO!” Emile shook her head. “George, you know I wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“Do I?” George countered, looking Emile in the eyes.

“Hey,” Lee interfered, leaning forward to put his arm around Emile. “George, that’s a bit much.”

“You haven’t told us why,” Angelina spoke, a calm voice amidst the chaos. 

“I’ve been offered the position of teacher at Uagadou School of Magic,” Emile said quietly, leaning against Lee. 

“A teacher?” George snorted.

“In Uganda?” Angelina cried out, and both of them withdrew their hands from Emile sharply. “Em, that’s so far away.”

“It wouldn’t be for long,” Emile objected, pleading eyes looking from George to Angelina. “Only a year or two, and I’d be back for summer break-”

“It’s not the same,” George snapped, turning away from Emile and looking at Angelina. 

“What would you be teaching?” Angelina asked in a level voice. 

“Wandlore,” Emile tensed, waiting for Angelina’s wave of anger to be unleashed.

“Why do they need a Wandlore Professor?”

Emile swallowed back tears as George continued to ignore her. “In Uagadou they don’t use wands to do magic, they learn to do magic with their hands. Wandlore is an elective class for them, like how we choose between muggle studies and deviation.”

Angelina nodded, eyes staring off into space as the silence amongst them dragged on, interrupted every now and then by the slow rubbing of Lee’s hand on Emile’s arm. 

“You should do it.”

Angelina’s response surprised all of them, and both George and Emile cried out, “what?!”

“I think she should do it,” Angelina repeated in her level voice. “No, don’t give me that look George. This isn’t a forever job, and Emile would visit. It would help her build a resume and reputation, maybe even valuable connections. We’ll miss her, of course, but in the long run it’s a good opportunity to take.”

Emile smiled at Angelina, who weakly smiled back, before the three of them turned towards George, who had remained silent for quite some time.

“George?” Emile dared to lean forward and place her hand on his arm.

He drew himself away sharply. “If you’re going to leave me too, then go.”

“George, I—”

“Get out of here!” George hissed, standing so that he towered over Emile, causing her stomach to churn uncomfortably.

“Leave her alone!” Lee snapped, standing up till he was eye to eye with George.

“I’m not mad at you, mate,” George hissed through clenched teeth. “I’m upset that people keep leaving me behind, like I’m nothing. Am I really that worthless to you guys?”

Emile began to cry, partially because of George’s reaction and partially because of the burning sensation in her stomach.

“Oh, go ahead, cry with those pretty eyes of yours. That’s what you do best, isn’t it?”

Emile fell onto her knees, face dangerously close to George’s legs.

“Em?” Lee leaned down a second too late.

Emile’s stomach heaved, and the dangerous combination of alcohol and food came flooding out of her mouth and onto the floor, getting on her clothes and George’s shoes.

“Em!” Angelina shoved George to the side as she ran forward to assist, her offer to help blocked out as Emile retched again, coughing up a thin stream of watery stomach acid.

Tears burned Emiles eyes as she remained on the floor, taking gasping, heaving breaths.

For a moment no one spoke as Angelina siphoned away the puke, and Lee gingerly wiped Emile’s face with a rag he had summoned from the kitchen.

George had turned away from the scene and was staring absentmindedly at the wall.

“Go then,” George’s voice echoed over the pounding in her head.

**Not like this…**

**God damnit**

“Not…” Emile couldn’t get the words out in time. George had left the room.

“He’ll come around,” Angelina whispered comfortingly as she helped her up. “You, on the other hand, have to accept that offer.”

“I will,” Emile croaked out, voice dull and scratchy.

“Don’t worry about George,” Lee insisted, wiping Emile’s face with a table napkin.

“I worry,” Emile mumbled, allowing her mind to wander as Lee and Angelina discussed her seemingly bright future. Emile wasn’t so sure if it was all that bright. She didn’t know how it could be without her best friend.


	97. Professor Gorska: Scene 1

Moment: The Airport 

“And you’re sure you packed everything?”

“Yes.”

“Even—”

“Achilles is safe inside his cage.”

“And—”

“All the paperwork is right here, with my passport.”

“Which—”

“Has not expired and will not for two years.”

Lee opened his mouth as if he were going to ask another question, but then closed it again.

“Are you finished?” Emile smirked airily, tucking a strand of brunette hair behind her ear.

“I just want to make sure I don’t lose you,” Lee sighed, pulling Emile in for a hug.

Emile took in a deep breath as she clung onto Lee outside of the airports main terminal. Who knew how long it would be before she saw him again?

“Hopefully George will be a lot nicer to you now that you’re not with constantly with me anymore.”

Lee gave a low grumble as he drew away from Emile so that he could look at her, narrowing his eyes. “He’s just being an arse. Honestly, Em, don’t worry about George. He can be butthurt, but he’ll come around eventually.”

“How  can you be sure?” Emile demanded, arms still wrapped around Lee’s neck.

“Because you two always had that in common,” Lee chuckled, smirking down at Emile.

Emile attempted to draw away, an offended huff escaping from her lips, but she couldn’t escape Lee’s grasp. He quickly pulled her closer, interlocking his lips with hers, and Emile couldn’t help but melt into his arms.

“Merlin, I’ll miss you,” She whispered as they finally pulled apart.

“I know,” Lee smirked, gently pushing her towards the gate. “Now go scar some kids.”

Emile laughed, taking a few steps backwards before turning around and heading through airport security. Once she passed through, she turned back to attempt to spot Lee in the distance. As they made eye contact, she saw him stick his wand out of his sleeve and point it at her.

“Don’t forget to write,” Lee’s whisper filled her ears from across the crowded hall.

Blowing him a kiss, Emile turned away and headed towards her gate, and towards Uagadou.

 

Letter #1

Hey friend,

I’m hoping this ends up being… almost therapeutic in some crazy way. I miss you, is that crazy? So much is happening here, but it’s hard to focus without you. 

Uagadou is insanely pretty. Dumi picked me up from the Airport and brought me to the school. I can’t say where it is, but it’s carved into a mountain. My office/living space is connected to my classroom, which I still have to decorate. I’m so nervous about, well, everything. 

I can’t help but wonder, how is Ollivander doing? Is Angelina loving her jobs any more than usual? Is Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes doing better than before? And most of all, how are you doing? 

When will I know? 

Will I ever know?

 

Moment: A Meeting With Headmaster Akingbade

“Ah, our newest Professor, ya?”

Emile smiled shyly at the Headmaster as she slowly closed the door to his office after her. “You wanted to meet with me, Headmaster?”

The headmasters office was near the peak of the school. Unlike Hogwarts, his office was not closed off from the students. Headmaster Akingbade kept the room open and available for students and teachers alike. The walls of the carved stone room were decorated with all kinds of plants and colorful hangings, and mats underfoot gave the floor a carpet-like plumpness.

“Ya, ya. I wanted to talk,  ndivyo neno, school plans?”

Emile blinked, attempting to piece together the words he spoke in English over his thick accent. “You mean, curriculum and stuff?”

“Ya, ya! Curriculum is English word I was looking for.”

“Alright, I had some questions about it so that is good.”

“Ya, ya. Ask away!”

Emile pulled out a roll of parchment and a pen. “Alright, so, what grades can I be expecting to teach?”

“Our students take wandlore in years four, five, six, and seven.”

“What do they usually do in those years?”

“Fours learn about wands, fives make wands, and six and seven learn to use wands.”

“Really? Do they not know how to use wands?”

The Headmaster gave a deep chuckle that seemed to shake the room. 

“We are, how the English say, primitive with our magic use,” Headmaster Akingbade rolled his eyes at Emile, causing her to giggle. “Do not worry, the students here at Uagadou are most experienced with magic.”

“What happened with the previous Professors?”

“Professor before you enjoyed too much liquor, ya ya. Lady before him retire after losing a hand to a dragon.”

“Do the children know English?” Emile blinked worriedly at the Headmaster.

“It is a required class for them to take in their primary education.”

Emile smiled, relieved.

“Ya, ya, you need not worry, Miss Gorska,” Headmaster Akingbade stood up, indicating to Emile that she should do the same. “Any trouble you have will not be your fault. And if student Mo is trouble, let Dumi know.”

“Mo?” Emile raised her eyebrows questioningly as the headmaster ushered her out of the room.

“Problem student, do not worry too much,” Headmaster Akingbade gaver her a comforting smile as he waved her down the hall. “Do not worry. Students here are good. Your English will not be a problem. ”

“That’s not all I’m worried about,” Emile muttered, exiting the office and making her way down the tangled halls.

 

Letter #2

Emile!

Girl, I do not hear from you enough! 

We all know you write to Lee a lot more than to anyone else, but I’m not George! Just because I’m dating him (tada!) does not mean I hate you.

I know what you’ll be thinking, and no, I’m not over Fred. I’ll never be over Fred, but neither will George. I suppose… that’s what brought us closer together. No one else really understood what it was like to lose him. Now, that came off as harsh, but we both know you were closer to George than Fred…

Did I make it awkward? I only wanted to let you know what was up and I’m sorry if I ramble. George says I ramble a lot. You always had a tendency to ask me questions and make it a conversation, but George just listens.

Lee is taking great care of your things! Your plant is doing fantastic, so don’t worry your pretty head about it. George did insist that he take all of your furniture and clothing and, well, everything. It’s all set up at Lee’s, in his spare bedroom, so you have someplace to come home to. 

Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes is really taking off, especially now that students receive owl orders at school as well. I think McGonagall has gone soft, but George thinks she pities him. He’s so paranoid.

God, I miss you to pieces. Tell me more about your school, when you can, alright? The life of a teacher can’t be easy, but please send me a few letters now and then so I can know what is up with my best friend!

Lots of love,

Angelina Johnson 

 

Moment: Walking into the Classroom

The carved dome that Emile had been given to use didn’t resemble a traditional classroom at all. It was a dome, carved in the inside of the mountain, with a tunnel leading into it from the main hallway. Across from the tunnel was a carved wooden door that led into another room that Emile had split with a large curtain. On one side was Emile’s bedroom, and the other was her office. A large balcony ran around the outside, giving Emile access to the cold mountain air. There was a large bonzai tree sticking out of it, offering shade and a place for Emile to sit.

Since the entrance to Emile’s room had no doors, she fashioned one herself out of the drapes she had used in her school years to cover the underside of the loft beds; the dark fabric still twinkled with familiar stars and constellations. 

In the very center of the classroom was a raised, circular platform. A set of steps spiraled up one side of the platform, giving it a very cinematic and stage like appearance. According to Dumi, this was where teachers stood to give lectures. Emile didn’t want it, but there seemed to be no way to get rid of it, so on top she had placed a circular desk which she could sit in the center of and swivel in any direction on a spinny chair she had acquired from the muggle studies professor, who had been under the impression that the office chair was a muggle torture device.

Around the raised platform were two levels of slightly curved desks, making two circles around the platform for people to sit and watch from. A large gap was left in between the desks directly in front of the entrance, and the door to her office, for people to walk though. 

The roof of the dorm Emile had charmed to mimic the sky above them, much like the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The walls were left blank, so they wouldn’t be too distracting to the students, but with the help of another professor, Emile managed to hollow out shelves in the raised platform in the center where she stored woods, cores, carving, and taming supplies. She also had cubbies carved into the wall of the dome closest to the tunnel, for students to leave their books and other supplies in.

Any place along the walls that didn’t have cubbies or entrances blocking it, Emile had plants growing. Saplings of wand wood trees were interspersed throughout the room, and various plants hung from the ceilings that attracted animals from which you could gather cores. Emile was proud of her setup, and eager to show everyone what she could do. 

 

Moment: Fourth Years

First day of school. First class of the day. Fourth years.

In Hogwarts, electives began in your second year, not fourth. Fourth years didn’t get near enough information to pass OWL’s, but Emile wasn’t even sure if they had tests such as OWL’s in Uagadou. Dumi had failed to mention if there were. 

Emile twitched her foot impatiently as she glanced up at the clock. Only one minute until class began. She would do fine. Fourth years were still cute and innocent; there shouldn’t be too much backtalk from them. And it was just syllabus day, the day to go over what would happen over the course of the year. Fourth years had never taken wandlore, so they would know better.

A loud drumbeat echoed throughout the halls, causing adrenaline to course through Emile’s body. She still wasn’t used to this odd school bell.

Emile stood up in the center of the raised platform, dusting off her shoulders self consciously. She looked cool and collected, right? Brunette hair in a bun, casual jeans and grey t-shirt, glasses pushed up her nose. Oh Merlin, did she look too much like a teacher? 

As the first student pushed through Emile’s curtain entrance she winced. It was too late to go back now.

“Welcome!” She called out to the student, smiling. 

The student, whose hair was braided back in intricate woven cornrows, gave Emile a confused look before taking a seat in the outer circle of chairs, books still in front of her. Silently, she took out a scroll of parchment and a fwooper feather quill, and began to doodle in the margins of some old notes.

Emile tried to contain her panic as more students came in, whispering amongst themselves as they threw her intrigued looks. Emile felt like an animal in a zoo; a new, exotic exhibit here for everyone's eyes to feast upon.

As the drums ceased their beating, so did any whispers and mutters from the half filled classroom before her. Big eyes turned towards Emile, blinking silently as they waited for instruction.

“Um… Hello everyone?”

Faint responses of “hi”, “hello”, and “habari” echoed throughout the room.

“Blimey,” Emile muttered, looking around. “There’s a lot less of you than I expected…”

A few chuckles echoed throughout the room, giving Emile a small bit of encouragement. 

“Alright then,” Emile clapped her hands together and turned around the room. “Why don’t all of you move to the seats closest to the door to make this easier for me?”

No one moved.

Emile frowned at the students and snapped her fingers. All the books of the students on the side of the room closest to her office door flew over to an open spot on the other side of the circle.

“Thank you for cooperating,” Emile said with a smile as the students, grumbling, moved to the other side of the circle. All in all, there was a total of twenty three students.

“Alright then fourth years, listen up. This year we will be-”

A giggle from a group of girls caught Emile’s attention. She snapped her head towards them to see them laughing at something drawn on cornrow girls paper, while shooting glances up at Emile. 

With a sigh and a wave of her hand, all of the students books were swept up and sent into the cubbies along the wall.

“What is the problem you have?” Cornrow girl stood up, glaring at Emile.

“You are here to learn,” Emile snapped, arms crossing. “The first day is the most important day to pay attention-”

“We take Wandlore because Wandlore you don’t learn anything!” She snapped back, arms crossed. “Professor White-”

“Your last Professor was a drunk who got fired for hitting on his seventh year students.”

The students all stared at Emile, eyes wide. 

Emile took a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I come off as harsh… I want you all to do well in this class.”

“Why?” asked a boy similar to cornrow girl in face and height. 

“I love wandlore,” Emile said with a small smile. 

“Why?” Asked cornrow girl, frowning at Emile.

Emile paused, wondering for a moment if she should be honest with the students. “I guess it’s the only thing I’ve ever been really good at.”

The classroom fell silent, and the fourth years sat down, nodding to themselves. Had she won their respect, even if it was for a moment?

“Now, as I was saying, on the first day of class we will be discussing simply how the entire year will go. There will be no hands on activities until second term; first term we will be learning about woods, cores, and the rules of wandlore. Second term we will be gathering woods and learning to shape wands. It’s not until your fifth year that you will be handling cores, and making wands of your own…”

 

Letter #3

Hey,

It’s been awhile since I wrote, but I finally found some spare time to do it. 

Having to restructure the entire curriculum is exhausting, I have no idea what I’m doing. The last Professor, Professor White, didn’t know what he was doing.These kids don’t know the first thing about wands, I even had to spend a day explaining what a core was to them!

Would you encourage me if you were here? Help me problem solve? Make fun of me? Be no help at all and go do your own thing?

I’m so lost. I have no idea what I’m doing, and I miss home like crazy. I’m trying to drown myself in busywork to keep me distracted, but it just makes me more and more irritable and upset. The students keep me going, but without someone who understands…

I don’t know what I’m doing. I miss you so much more than I thought I would. I need some help if I’m going to pull this off.

 

Moment: Sixth Years

Emile surveyed the class of sixth years before her, smiling as she checked in on their handiwork. The fifteen students who were taking sixth year wandlore were busy crafting their own wands; something that should have been done fifth year. The wands they had come to class with were so poorly made and cared for that Emile had disposed of all of them on sight, insisting they start from scratch. The cracked, unstable, and tarnished wands were unsafe for use, and likely to cause more harm than good.

Many of the sixth years had needed help piecing together their wands, giving Emile perspective on what to work on with her fifth year class once the time to piece together their wands came. So far, they were researching places where they could go to gather wand cores for their final projects.

“Professor!” Came a shout from across the circle.

Emile whipped around to see a short girl with two, poofy pigtails waving her hand aggressively with her close friend, Huseina.

“What do you need, Kakena?”

“The wand shakes!”

Emile frowned, hopping down from her elevated desk and rushing across to the student. Sure enough, the thin eucalyptus wand was trembling, a strong light shining through a miniscule crack in its side.

“Get down!” Emile cried out, flicking her own wand to make a protective bubble appear around the wand as she sent it up towards the ceiling.

The students around her began diving under their tables, peeking out worriedly and dragging down their friends with them.

Not fifteen seconds had passed when the wand seemed to close in on itself, shrinking to the size of a marble before careening energy and splinters out into the shield Emile attempted to contain it in. It broke free of its magical confinements, shooting splinters in every direction.

Emile gave a small yelp and covered her face with her hands as the burst of magic made the enchanted sky above her tremble.

But no splinters hit her.

Emile opened her eyes to see a thin, wavery magic shield in front of her. The splinters of wood that had been headed towards her were frozen, hovering in midair. Turning around, she saw Kakena and Huseina standing behind her, Huseina holding her nearly completed wand out towards Emile as Kakena stared at her friend, dumbfounded.

“Yo-you cast a shield charm,” Emile gasped, staring at Huseina. 

Huseina dropped the wand in shock, and the shield dropped, letting the splinters it had blocked fall to the floor. “I- I do not know how. It was an accident.”

“Thank Merlin you did,” Emile sighed, smiling at the student. “I’d be a lot more scarred if you hadn’t done that.”

With a wave of her hand, the splinters of eucalyptus gathered in a neat piled, which Emile lifted into the air to show to the slowly emerging class.

“Alright,” Emile called out, showing the splinters to the class around her. “Who can tell me what happened. Kakena?”

The sixth year swallowed nervously as she looked around the class, blushing. “I did not treat the wood before leaving Friday, and it dried up and cracked.”

“Good, so you know what to do next time,” Emile smiled encouragingly. “It’s not the end of the world. You all have to remember that in this climate especially, wands need extra care and protection against the heat. So tell me, everyone, what do we do with our wood?”

Giggles rang through the room as the bright eyed student chanted their learned response to Emile.

“We treat it RIGHT.”

 

Letter #4

Emile Victoria Gorska,

It’s been ninety seven days since I saw you off at the airport, and you’ve only sent me four letters. I’m disappointed. It’s not like I’m any better, considering I've only sent you seven letters, two care packages, and numerous things you forgot to pack.

Did that get my point across? Write back to me, you lump.

It’s been really different without you. All of your stuff is safe in my place now, thanks to Angelina. She and George finally got the nerve to clear out Fred’s room… as much as I hate to say it, they’re kind of perfect for each other.

George is still an arse. He comes in every few days or so for a pint, and we talk. Every time your name is brought up he gets super twitchy and irritated. It’s annoying.

On another note, I’ve been offered a job at the ministry. I suppose Ron put in a good word or two about my heroics during the Battle of Hogwarts (believe me, I’m just as confused as you are), and coincidentally they are looking for capable hands to work in the Department of Mysteries as an Unspeakable. 

It’s a lot of work, but it pays well. The one thing is I wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone about anything that goes on at work. Unspeakables are sworn to absolute secrecy. I’m not sure what to do, I wish you were here so we could talk face to face. I miss your face. And your hair. And your eyes. And the dopey way your nose scrunches when you get offended by something I say.

I bet you’re doing it now.

Can I visit you soon? At all? Or, is that not allowed, since you’re working at a school and not just off on some holiday to escape the clutches of death eaters?

Let me know soon, please.

Love,

Lee Jordan


	98. Professor Gorska: Scene 2

Moment: The Troublemaker

“Where is your wand?”

The student in front of her gave a shrug, and continued picking his teeth with the end of his quill. 

Emile took a steadying sigh and leaned against the desk behind her, studying the seventh year student up and down. His thin buzzcut bugged her more then she was willing to let on. “Mosi, it’s been five weeks since the school year started. You need a wand to pass the class.”

“I can do all wand magic with my hands,” Mo mumbled, giving a shrug. “A wand is not important, a wand is the Europeans tool.”

“Why are you here?” Emile sighed, putting her hand to her temples.

Mo gave a shrug. “Professor White did nothing in class. I did homework. No one else think wandlore is worthwhile class.”

“Because of Professor White?”

“Ya, no one care. Wandlore is a joke.”

“Wandlore is an important subject. Everyone should at least know the basics of wand maintenance and-”

“Whatever, Emilia.”

“Emile. And I’m your Professor, not another student.”

Mo snorted before returning to his astronomy homework.

Emile stared up at the enchanted mid-afternoon sky. How could she convince an entire grade that Wandlore was a worthwhile subject?

 

Letter #5

Hey,

So, you were a douchebag to your teachers, right?

I mean, I know you were, of course you were. I remember a bit of you in class. At least, I think I do…

I’m growing old. Days just seem to blend together now, and I can’t tell events apart from each other. There’s this slowly growing stack of ungraded assignments that I don’t have the energy to grade. 

You’d just tell me to move my ass, huh? You’re not wrong, I know that I need to just get up and DO things, but I don’t do it. I should do it, I need to do it.

Would you do it, if you could?

 

Moment: Surprise, Surprise

During the last week of term, just minutes before the fourth year class was to end, in the middle of a long awaited test, Emile was surprised.

Emile was never incredibly fond of surprises. She enjoyed the occasional gift or baked good sent from home, but she couldn’t have expected such a big delivery.

She was grading a test she had given yesterday to her fifth year, her back turned to the door, when the sound of the curtain being swept aside.

“Jina and Jela,” she started saying without turning around. The cornrow twins had a knack for getting into trouble, and getting on her nerves. “if the two of you are trying to leave class, again, I’ll have no choice but to-”

“Come on, Em. Don’t you know it’s rude to assume?”

Emile dropped her quill, refusing to believe her ears.

“I don’t even get a hello?”

Slowly, Emile turned in the spinny chair, blinking back tears as she pushed her glasses up her nose. There was no way this was happening, no way whatsoever that he would come all this way, but there he was.

“Lee?”

“Who else?”

Emile jumped over the edge of her desk and down the raised center platform, stumbling over her feet as she ran over to Lee and threw her arms around him. He wrapped one arm around her waist and used the other to hold her head close to him. They stayed like that for a while, Emile breathing in the familiar scent of his aftershave.

Their embrace was interrupted by a flurry of feathers as Achilles crash landed on Emile’s head, twittering angrily at Lee as the two of them laughed and leaned in towards each other, eagerly anticipating-

“Professor, we are still here,” Jina called out, and Jela wolf-whistled, sending the class into a ruckus of laughter.

“Hush, you two,” Emile grumbled, blushing a deep scarlet as she turned back towards her class from a smirking Lee. “Everyone, finish your-”

Drumming from the hallway interrupted Emile, signalling that class had ended.

“Do you have another class after this?” Lee queried as the fourth years exited the room, winking at Emile and whispering amongst themselves as they looked Lee up and down. 

“Only one seventh year,” Emile purred, pulling Lee in close. “He spends all the time doing work for other classes.”

“Sounds distracting,” Lee smirked, grabbing hold of her waist.

“You’re distracting,” Emile teased, leaning up.

Mo had the displeasure of walking in on his Professor and her partner in a long lasting kiss, and was quickly ushered out of the room by Achilles.

 

Moment: Fifth Years

Emile knew it was wrong to have a favorite class, but her fifth years were so sweet.

The thirty one students who had signed up for her class were eager to actually learn. They knew enough to cover the basics, and listened intently to what Emile taught them. They had all successfully acquired wand cores of their liking, and were stoked to finally be building their wands. 

There were no problem children, no rude backtalkers. There was even a group of girls from that class that often came into Emile’s office during their lunch break to talk and eat along with her. They adored hearing about life in Britain, and were always there to criticize the food she ate and her attempts to eat their food. 

It was the girls that gave her an ingenious idea.

“What does it mean, ‘field trip’?” One of the girls braiding Emile’s hair leaned forward as Emile attempted to explain the trips to Hogsmeade to them.

“Just going out into the world and visiting a place of interest in school, usually for educational purposes-ow!” Emile winced as one of the six hands working with her stiff brunette hair tugged a bit too hard.

“Can we go?!” One of them giggled as she peeled into her pomegranate. “We can find a unicorn!”

The girls squealed and clapped and began chatting excitedly at the prospect of getting to see a unicorn.

“I told you in class!” Emile laughed as her head was yanked to one side. “If you all get at least A’s on your exams then I will work with the Care of Magical creatures department to bring in a Unicorn.”

“It is not the same!” One of them whined as the one eating the pomegranate nodded along enthusiastically. “Wild unicorn hairs will make strong cores, yes?”

Emile stopped chewing, an idea slowly forming in her mind.

“Please?!” Three girls whined in Emile’s ears.

They gasped as a slow smile crept across Emile’s face.

“Maybe a field trip isn’t such a bad idea…”

 

Moment: Field Trip

Mo stopped laughing with his friends as Emile sat down next to him during breakfast, smiling widely at the seventh years she didn’t know.

“Um… ?” Mo gave Emile a weirded out look as she started helping herself to some of the breakfast layout.

“Yes, Mo?”

“What do you want, Emilia?”

“Is Mo in trouble another time?” One of Mo’s friends chortled, his incredibly bouncy hair rippling as he snickered along with the rest of Mo’s friends.

“I’m just here to talk to Mo about today,” Emile said with a smirk, relishing Mo’s confused face.

“It is  Jumanne, Tuesday,” Mo said carefully, a worried look in his eyes as his friends snickered.

“Headmaster Akingbade is excusing you from all your classes today,” Emile purred, watching as Mo’s friends gave disbelieving cries, and Mo’s expression turned to one of shock.

“Why?” He stuttered out, eyes narrowing suspiciously.

“I need the help of an older and more experienced student,” Emile said with an innocent blink of her eyes. “I’m going to collect some wood and cores for a demonstration for the fourth years, and a seventh year with three years of experience is a valuable asset and worthwhile accomplice. After all, you are top of your classes.”

Mo’s friends congratulated him and cheered him on as he glared at Emile, his face darkening at the sight of her satisfied smirk. They both knew he had those grades because she gave him all that extra time to study in her class. “Alright Professor, I will come.”

 

Letter #6

Hey, Barty.

It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, but I do think these letters help me, in a weird way. It’s easy to imagine what you would say or try to do if you were in my shoes, and I laugh a lot about it.

I think that Mo’s finally come around! Ever since our field trip he’s been cautiously interested in wandlore. We’re even researching where we could find some wand wood for him. And, to add to the party, a friend of Mo’s who goes by B is coming to class with him!

It’s so amazing feeling like I’m helping these kids out in some way. Wouldn’t it be cool if, say, fifteen years from now, I’m the reason one of their kids decides to pursue wandlore? Because I was such a cool, hip teacher and role model and overall amazing leader?

Not that I’m tooting my own horn, but it might be true.

Merlin, I feel so pathetic pretending to talk to you. I need to let this go, let you go. I haven’t even replied to a single letter from Angelina yet, and there have been many. 

I might be ready to let you go soon.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’ll never be able to let you go.

Butthead.

 

Moment: Kneazle

“Emilia!”

“Mo, what did I say about-”

“Professor, quick!”

Emile heaved a sigh and slowly, painfully, stood up from where she had been crouching by a fallen log. Mo and B had dragged her on yet another quest out at the base of the mountain in search of potential wand cores. She felt too old to be trailing after the boys; their youthful energy led them to dank caves and dark woods and crumbling cliffs that she had no energy for. 

Dragging herself over to where the boys were crouched in the shadow of a toothbrush tree, Emile gave a small gasp and dropped down next to them.

“It’s, oh my Merlin…”

Curled up on the ground was a tabby Kneazle, it’s yellow eyes glimmering in the late afternoon light.

“Professor, these are common animals here in-”

“Emilia is from Europe, B.”

“Shut up, Mo.”

B laughed and shoved his friend in the arm, who shoved back and caused B to fall backwards into the brush. 

As the two boys wrestled in the back, Emile tentatively stretched her hand toward the nervous animal, waiting for it to blink or run away.

It did not move.

“Hey, Mo,” Emile turned around and beckoned the boys back over. “What’s wrong with it?”

Mo frowned at Emile and then at the crouched kneazle, tentatively poking it with a stick from the rainforest floor. 

The animal rolled sideways, away from the roots of the tree, revealing the dried blood sticking up around the underside of its neck.

“Oh no…” Emile shuddered as she leaned towards the dead animal, levitating the limp body upwards with wandless magic only to drop it in shock.

“A kitten!”

“What?!”

Both of the boys leaned forward eagerly as Emile handed the body of to them and leaned low, scooping up the baby kneazle with her hand. The tiny body gave a few frightened squeaks and attempted to writhe away from her grasp.

“Hey, hey,” Emile whispered in a low voice, crooning to the little kitten and stroking its head with her thumb until it calmed down. The boys stared in amazement as she stood up, cradling the ball of grey fluff in her arms as it nuzzled closer to her chest and began to rumble softly.

“It’s purring!” Emile looked up at her students with a grin on her face.

The boys only stared at her, shocked, as she stood up and took a step closer to them.

“What should we name it?” She whispered excitedly, looking down at the puffball adoringly.

“Name it?” B’s eyes narrowed as a grin spread across his face.

“We?” Mo scoffed and crossed his arms. “Akingbade will jinx us off the mountain if he knows.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Emile teased, looking over at B. “Well?”

“This is Salvadora tree, yes?” B motioned towards the toothbrush tree they were standing by.

“Salvador!” The two of them said together, chuckling.

Mo heaved a sigh and shook his head. “This is crazy.”

“Shut up, Mo.”

“Of course, Emilia.”

 

Letter #7

Emile Victoria Gorska,

  1. Miss. You. I simply cannot talk to George in the same way I talk to you. Except… you don’t talk to me. I refuse to tell you news that will blow your mind until I see you in person, which should be soon considering the school year is ending in just under a month.



Lee did say he wanted to visit you for graduation and spend the summer holidays traveling with you, but I will literally throw you off the mountain if you do not come to visit this summer. I will travel all the way to Africa out of sheer SPITE and HURL YOU off the mountainside, Gorska! 

Don’t test me!

The shop is doing well, thanks for asking. Lee misses you like hell, thanks for getting back to him. George is still an arse, but he’s a romantic arse. 

I wish you would come back for Ginny and Hermione’s graduation. You know Molly’s going crazy with worry about you. She’s even started taking regular pies to Lee just to see the most recent photos you’ve sent him.

Come back to us, sweetheart. Come back to your life, to Ollivander, to Lee, to me.

Just, come back.

Love, Angelina Johnson

 

Moment: Seventh Years

After a successful few ventures with Mo and B, as well as the attraction of little Sal, many seventh years began coming by regularly to her class to get in on actual wandlore. Several of Mo’s apparently snotty friends came to show an appreciation and talent for wandlore, and revealed a much kinder side to their personalities. Emile was delighted to finally connect with them.

Now with a regular twelve students attending her class, Emile fought with Headmaster Akingbade to arrange more field trip for her seventh years. The thirteen of them managed to collect an abundance of woods and cores, and the Headmaster agreed that if they showed aptitude in the usual wandlore qualifications, the students would be granted extra credits for their graduation.

Mo became something of a natural teacher and leader for his fellow classmates. Much to Emile’s surprise, he had actually picked up a lot of things from watching her work while she thought he was working on work for other classes. In no time, the seventh year class was equipped with quality wands of their own, and performing standard spells. Mo and Emile even managed to have a friendly duel from time to time, simply to show off for the other students. 

At the seventh years graduation, Emile couldn’t help but beam around at the friends she’d made over the past few months. She was incredibly proud of her students, especially Mo as he accepted his diploma and walked down the row, shaking everyone's hand as he passed.

“Congratulations, Mosi,” Emile beamed as he gripped her hands in both of his, grinning wildly.

“Thank you for believing in me, Professor Gorska.”

As the student walked further down the row, Emile had to pause and wipe tears from her eyes. 

Professor Gorska.


	99. Homecoming

Emile’s hands shook as she stared at the letter in front of her. A familiar owl had brought it, an aged spotted owl. She had received letters from Ollivanders owl before, but they had always been in scrolls. This one, this one was an envelope. The handwriting was odd, loopy. Not Ollivanders usual chicken scratch. And he never had to address a letter to her; who else did he have to write to?

It had been a year since Mo and B had graduated, and her adorable former sixth years had just passed their final exams. In a few days time they would process down the mountain to the beat of the drums, chanting and whooping as they leave their schooling behind and move on to bigger things.

Sighing, Emile leaned back in her chair, spinning back and forth as she chewed on her lip. After last years graduation she had taken a train back home for a week, just to see Ginny and Hermione graduate. Lee had accompanied her back to Hogwarts, and all Emile could really remember from the trip was how badly her hands were shaking when she saw the school restored and whole, and how unlikely it was that any of the battle survivors would ever be as well mended as the castle.

Hermione and Ginny had been delighted to see her; Ginny had even teared up when Emile draped a graduation lei around her neck. 

But their reunion was short lived.

As soon as Emile spotted the crowd of red hair flocking their way, she moved towards the back of the crowd. George and Angelina were amongst them, an inseparable pair of glistening eyes and beaming grins. Angelina knew Emile was back for a week and met up with her for drinks almost nightly, filling her in on the juicy gossip as well as the history behind the sparkling engagement ring on her finger, but George would not come around.

Emile sighed and lifted up the scroll, untying the red ribbon that kept it closed with unsteady hands. It unrolled open, and the words printed on it in careful ink caused Emile’s eyes to burn.

 

_ Emile Victoria Gorska, _

_ You are formally invited to the funeral and reading of the will of one Garrick Ollivander Senior. _

_ When: July, 12th at 6pm _

_ Where: Ollivanders Wand Shop, Diagon Alley _

_ Kindly RSVP _

 

A tear slid down Emile’s cheek as the scroll fell out of her hands with a dull thud, and hit the floor of her classroom. Ollivander was dead, and she was out here, in Africa. She hadn’t known how close he was, no one had told her, or else she would have, could have, been there for him.

Slowly, Emile’s head sunk down onto her arms, resting them on her desk as she sobbed for what seemed like ages. Every time the tears seemed to slow, they would start back up again, and soon enough Emile’s eyes were burning so hard that even crying hurt, so she sat in her misery, moping and pitying herself for how utterly useless she was to her friends, and everyone who had ever trusted-

“Emile?”

Sniffling Emile raised her undoubtedly disheveled head to face Dumi with blurred eyes. “What?”

Dumi gave an odd trill and hopped up next to her, sitting on the edge of her desk. “I was GOING to ask if you wanted to go grab drinks in the village, but in your state that doesn’t seem smart.”

Emile nodded and leaned forward, resting her head on her arms again.

With a worried look at his coworker, Dumi hopped off her desk and ran over to Emile’s office, coming back later with a squirming bundle in his arms.

“What are you-”

“It’ll help,” Dumi insisted, shoving poor Sal into her arms. “Just hold him.”

Sniffling, Emile took the irritated kneazle into her arms and buried her face into his thick, grey fur. Sal allowed himself to be held for a few seconds before resuming his struggle for freedom, mewing pitifully as he attempted to wiggle out of her grasp.

“So?” Dumi leaned forward as Emile released the young kneazle, watching him saunter off to another end of the desk and lick his dishevelled fur.

“Ollivander is…”

Emile couldn’t finish the sentence.

Dumi nodded in understanding and heaved a sigh, looking at her with a sad smile. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Emile sank back onto the desk, staring off at her decorated classroom wall. “I guess I’m scared to say it out loud, because if I do it might suddenly become real.”

Dumi continued nodding, and leaned in closer to her. “So, what now?”

Emile straightened up and dabbed at her reddened eyes, clearing her throat. “Now, we return home.”

 

Ollivander’s funeral was a somber event. Little Gary and Cassy had begun to cry when Emile had appeared, and didn’t let go of her for a good forty five minutes following her arrival. It was only after she left Sal to their undivided attention that Emile was able to break free from the two children and get a moment alone with June and Garrick Jr.

June didn’t say anything as Emile cautiously approached the grieving couple, she simply stretched her hands out to Emile, who gave her her hands to hold.

“We are thrilled to see that you could make it, Em,” June smiled sadly and squeezed her hands. “Really, we all are.”

Emile couldn’t bring herself to meet her eyes. “I should have been here.”

“Nonsense,” Garrick spoke sharply, but his eyes were kind. “You were out there bettering yourself, and the world. Nothing made him happier than your letters, and the stories of your kids.”

Emile sighed but reluctantly smiled at him. “Still…”

“Don’t you dare blame yourself, young lady,” June let go of Emile and crossed her arms. “There’s work to be done.”

“What do you mean?”

Garrick Jr. exchanged a knowing smile with June and put his arm around his wife. “We’re giving you the shop.”

The world seemed to slow down around Emile as Garricks words sunk in. 

“W-what?”

June gave a small laugh. “Em, honey, Garrick has a job that he likes, he’s not about to give it up to run that old place.”

“But what about your sister?”

Garrick Jr. gave a snort. “She’s not the settling down kind of person.”

Emile blinked at them. “My students…”

“You’d be back home,” June insisted, putting her hands together, “with your friends, with Lee.”

“What about me?”

Whipping around, Emile’s face broke out into a grin at the sight of her boyfriend.

“Miss me?” she teased as he slid his hands along her waist and drew her closer.

“Not much to miss,” Lee teased back, kissing her on the forehead. “Especially when you’re only five foot five.”

“Sorry I didn’t stop by the apartment, I came straight here,” Emile whispered as she looked him in the eyes.

“Don’t sweat it,” Lee grinned. “Now, tell me, what were you guys talking about just now?”

Emile opened her mouth and closed it again, lost in Lee’s eyes as he looked down at her.

“Emile?” Lee’s left eyebrow raised questioningly.

Emile swallowed. “Perhaps we could step outside?”

Lee gave a small smile and nodded, taking her by the hand and leading her outside.

The funeral was being held at a Diagon Alley’s one and only event venue. Outside, the bustling and colorful wizarding center was closed down for the night, dimly lit by oil lamps and the sun setting low in the sky. Multicolor smoke was streaming out of the chimneys, filling the darkening sky with a colorful haze and giving off delicious smells.

“It’s all so familiar,” Emile sighed, gazing around her. 

“But so different,” Lee smiled and squeezed her hand. “Hey, let’s take a walk, like old times.”

Emile smiled, confused. “What old times?”

“Well,” Lee grinned as he pulled her towards Quality Quidditch Supplies, “remember when you bought your first broom?”

Emile smiled up at Lee. “Of course. Fourth year, was it?”

Lee nodded importantly. “Ah, yes. The year I lost you to Oliver Wood.”

Emile snorted and dragged him further down the alley. “Check it out! The ice cream shop!”

“Yeah,” Lee laughed as he allowed Emile to pull him towards it. “Some entrepreneur reopened it, wouldn’t let old Floreans memory die.”

“I remember getting ice cream here with you guys,” Emile grinned, smiling into the familiar ice cream parlor. “Almost every trip here, we always made time for ice cream. I still have that photo of us outside, right before sixth year, was it?”

“The year I lost you to George,” Lee smiled sadly.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” Emile insisted, draping her arms around Lee’s neck. “You’re the one who got me in the end, right?”

“But is it for good?” Lee teased as he pushed her against the shop window.

“You tell me, Jordan,” Emile grinned mischievously and leaned upward.

“Em?”

“Goddamnit,” Lee grumbled and stepped back, only to be shoved aside as a blur threw herself at Emile, enveloping her in a choking hug.

“Emile Victoria Gorska, It IS you!”

“Angie,” Emile managed to choke out as Angelina Johnson stepped back, grinning wildly.

“Cockblock,” Lee grumbled, crossing his arms and looking away from the happy reunion.

“You didn’t write or anything, what the HELL, Em!”

“Angie, you’re… you’re…”

Angelina grinned and gave her swollen stomach a few pats. “The size of a whale?”

“I wasn’t invited to the wedding,” Emile pouted and crossed her arms.

“George didn’t want anything big,” Angelina explained, linking arms with Emile. “It was a small event, with only immediate family, and Harry.”

“So only immediate family,” Lee smirked, linking his arm with Emile’s free one.

“Did you know about this?” Emile stared at Lee, baffled and slightly offended.

“I didn’t think it was as important as other things,” Lee mumbled, looking slightly ashamed.

“You’re an idiot,” Emile cooed and pecked Lee on the cheek.

“Angie?”

The trio stopped in their tracks, their joy draining so quickly you’d have thought a dementor had popped up amongst them.

“George,” Angelina grinned worriedly, unlinking arms with her friend. “Look who’s back!”

“I can see them.” George wasn’t smiling as Angelina walked over to him and took his hand. “Why are you here?”

Emile stared at George, unable to speak.

“Ollivanders funeral,” Lee stepped in, putting his arm around Emile protectively. “George-”

“When are you going back?” George’s eyes were cold and wary, but Emile could see a bit of familiarity in their depths. Somewhere, though he repressed it, George was happy to have her back.

“I’m not.”

“What?!” Lee and Angelina cried out in unison.

Emile swallowed and looked up at Lee. “Garrick Jr. is giving me the wand shop.”

“That’s fantastic!” Lee laughed out loud, kissing Emile on the lips. 

“Welcome back!” Angelina clapped, grinning wildly as she ran up to Emile and enveloped her in another hug.

George hung back, his disbelief clear on his face. “So, what, we just forgive her?”

Angelina sighed and turned around to face her husband. “George-”

“No, I will not get over it!” George snapped, tensing up. “She LEFT us, Angelina!”

“For a job!” Angelina threw her hands in the air, exasperated. “This is ridiculous, get over yourself. She is your friend.”

“Not anymore.”

“George,” Lee stepped forward, eyes narrowed. “I understand that you’re angry-”

“Damn right I’m angry!” George hissed.

“Stop it!” Emile walked towards George, stopping a few feet in front of him. “Please, stop.”

They locked eyes, and Emile could see her own hurt reflected in his. They had both lost family and friends, both been in love, both tried so hard to move on. They were similar, and yet so different. George was hurting over the loss of his conscience, the small voice in his his head that guided his life, the part of him that knew the best and worst sides of his personality.

He needed to heal.

“I forgive you.”

George snorted, but he couldn’t hide the surprise in his eyes.

“You’re hurting,” Emile continued, knowing that both Lee’s and Angelina’s jaws were dropped. “You’re pushing me away because I added to your hurt, and you need someone to blame. That’s alright. Take it out on me if you have to. Hate me with every fiber of your being. Just know that no matter what you do you are my friend, and I forgive you.”

George stood there for a moment, mouth opening and closing, before turning away from the group. “Well, I can’t forgive you.”

Emile’s eyes grew hot as George began to stalk down the alleyway toward his store, without so much as a glance backwards.

Angelina came up behind her, squeezing Emile’s hand. “I’ll talk to him. George!” 

As her friend chased her husband down the alleyway, Emile let out a stifled sob.

“Hey, Em,” Lee came around and wrapped his arms around her. “It’s ok, baby it’s alright.”

“Don’t call me baby,” Emile mumbled into his shirt as the tears soaked into it.

“That’s my girl,” Lee chuckled, pulling out a handkerchief and drying her eyes. “Now, let’s go take a look at your store.”

 

Letter #8

Hey Bartemius,

This is going to be my last letter to you. Seeing George made me realize that I need to let you go.

Were these letter therapeutic? I don’t know. But maybe, now that I’m back, I’ll be able to figure out how to talk about my problems with real people, rather than a voice in my head or an imaginary person who reads my mindless ramblings.

I’m back in London. I’m living with Lee, running the shop, making wands. Sal is adjusting to the different climate, and I think it’s better for him with his thick fur. I wish you would have been able to see me get a cat. He’s adorable, with thick grey fur and round, yellow eyes that scream innocence whenever he knocks over a mug and pretends it wasn’t him. Achilles has finally come around to his companion, and even brings him mice from his late night hunts.

Lee is amazing, as always. I honestly have no idea how he puts up with me. He says that since I’ve been back it seems like I’m having a lot less nightmares. I suppose fears, like memories, fade in time. Little does he know, I’m terrified of losing him.

I’ll never forget you, Bartemius. I like to imagine that you’re in a comfortable place, somewhere in a ski resort, with hiking trails and professional chefs that cater to your fancy man pallet. I know we’ll see each other again soon, it’s only a matter of time.

A part of me loved you, too.

Forever yours,

Emile Victoria Gorska


	100. Six Years Later

“George Weasley, I will not listen to such insolent and uncalled for verbal abuse of my best friend.”

“But Angie, you know how I feel about her. As my wife you need to respect my wishes.”

Angelina stomped her foot impatiently, her eyes blazing. “And as my HUSBAND you need to respect MY wishes. The sitter cancelled. There’s no one else available. And Fred likes her.”

George snorted. “Of course he does. Everyone loves innocent little Emile Gorska.”

Angelina sighed and put her head in her hands. “Please, George. We haven’t had a night out in months. And Emile’s never had a problem with putting Roxanne to sleep so there shouldn’t be any trouble.”

“She isn’t coming here,” George snapped his head up.

“George, for Merlins-”

“She can be the babysitter, but you’ll take the kids to her and Lee’s place before we leave.”

Angelina sighed but gave a small smile. “Well, it’s definitely an improvement to last time she baby sat.” She walked over to where George was sitting and rubbed his back with her hand. “I wish you could get over this.”

She pecked George on the cheek and left the room, leaving him alone to listen to the happy gurgling of Roxanne as her mother entered her nursery. 

“I do too,” he whispered to no one in particular.

George watched from the window of the apartment as Angelina escorted Fred and Roxanne out of Diagon Alley to the muggle street, where Emile would be picking the children up in her muggle car.

“Auntie Em’s got a muggle television, dad,” Fred had said excitedly not half an hour ago as George had attempted to change his son out of his soot stained shirt. Fred had a habit of messing around with the unfinished inventions for the joke shop.

“Auntie Em better not rot your brain with that muggle garbage,” George had grumbled, his attitude catching his son’s attention.

“Dad, why don’t you like Auntie Em?” Fred had looked at George with sad eyes. “Auntie Em likes you.”

“Fred dear, leave your father to clean up your mess and come pack your toys!”

Angelina’s call had spared George from answering. 

George sighed as he stared across the dinner table at his wife. It had been six years since Emile had moved back to London and taken over Ollivanders business. She hadn’t changed one bit. How could she not change? She’d lost so much, how did she remain so strong? It was a trait he admired and envied. Nothing had been the same for him since Fred had died.

“George is a bit uptight because we left the kids with Emile.”

George glared at his wife as she stage whispered to Hermione and Ginny, who nodded understandingly. The three Weasley couples were out on a romantic date night, one which might have gone better in Angelina hadn’t brought Emile up.

“Listen George,” Ron said with a scared look at his older brother. “Emile’s nice, and she didn’t do anything wrong.”

“She left me alone, Ronald,” George snapped and stood up from the table. “I’m going to use the restroom. I won’t listen to this, again.”

When he was almost at the mens room, Ginny appeared next to him, pushing him up against the wall with her wand in one hand, which was dangerously close to his neck, and a bundle of fabric in the other.

“Listen to me George Weasley, and you listen carefully,” She hissed at him, looking terrifyingly like their mother. “You are going to take this invisibility cloak and you are going to apparate to Emile and Lee’s apartment. You are going to sit in a corner and observe how well that woman gets along with your kids and take note of how happy they are until Angelina stops by to pick them up. Then, and only then, will you make a decision about whether or not you will quit acting like an infant and grow up and have an adult conversation, or if you will continue to mope and complain like a child.”

George stared at his sister definitely. “Why would I do that?”

Ginny’s eyes were like liquid fire. “Because you’re acting like a child, and now since I’ve said that you’re going to have to prove me wrong by going.”

George sighed and took the fabric out of Ginny’s hand. “I’m only doing this so that you’ll leave me alone.”

“Of course.”

Grumbling, George swept the cloak over his shoulders and head. With a last glare at his sister that he knew couldn’t see him, he turned on his heels and apparated to the muggle apartment of Lee Jordan and Emile Gorska.

He’d only seen it from the outside, a tall brown building with no defining characteristics in the middle of London Downtown. Emile and Lee had an apartment near the top, with a view of the bay and all of its tourist traps. 

George took the lift up to the top floor, trying to ignore his shaking hands. The apartment that belonged to Lee and Emile was the last one on the right, or so Angelina had mentioned one time. It was easy to tell which was Emile’s by the doormat, a simple muggle thing with “Please wipe your paws!” written on it, surrounded by cat paw prints. Little Fred had mentioned that she had finally gotten a cat. A kneazle that had bonded with her during her adventures in Uagadao.

George hesitated outside the door, remembering the last time he had seen Emile. So many years had passed since their run in in the alley. Since he had yelled at her for leaving him alone. Since she had told him she forgave him.

That had been six years ago, and George hadn’t spoken to her since then. But maybe things could change.

Pulling out his wand, George pointed it at the door.

“Alohamora.”

The moment George entered the simple apartment, he could smell her. A tidal wave of memories came flooding back as the smell of apple spice and leather and honey nurtured mead filled his nostrils, mixed with the scent of citrus aftershave and old books. Lee’s scent.

Noise came from down the hall, a clatter of pans followed by the laughter and cheering of children. His children.

George peered into a cozy kitchen area, watching as Fred and Roxanne laughed and gurgled at the kitchen utensils twirling over their heads. And standing by the stove, one hand manning the cooking food and the other putting on the show, was Emile Victoria Gorska. She truly hadn’t changed at all. Same hair, more straight than wavy, and pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head. It was back to its Weasley Red. She was still short, and she still wore the same tattered, red, flannel pajama pants. 

Fred and Roxanne gave a cry as Emile set the table for the three of them.

“Do the magic! Do the magic!” Fred chanted, and Roxanne cried beside him. “Do de megk! Do de megk!”

“You’ll be doing magic soon yourself,” Emile teased as she personally lifted Roxanne up into her chair.

“Yeah, but we can’t do wandless magic,” Fred argued.

“You can ask me to teach you over the summer once you come of age,” Emile laughed.

Fred grumbled. “Dad would never let me. He never lets me do anything fun.”

George felt his insides twist as he watched his son. Was he being that unfair? Would Fred have done things differently?

“Your father does what he thinks his best for you,” Emile said as she fed Roxanne a spoon of macaroni and cheese.

George stared at his old friend, touched. She was defending him even though he’d been ignoring her for years. 

“Yeah, well,” Fred stopped eating for a moment to think. “His best is pretty lame.”

“Fred Weasley, I will hear none of that,” Emile scolded with a smile. “You have so much in life to be thankful for.”

“Like what? Her?” Fred jerked his head at his little sister as she threw some macaroni at her brother, which was stopped at the last second by Emile’s magic.

Emile gave Fred a searching look before turning back to feeding Roxanne. “I know what movie we’re going to watch tonight.”

As Fred helped Emile clean up the dishes, George took an opportunity to explore the apartment. Two bedrooms, one messy and one clean. So Lee and Emile hadn’t yet started sharing a bed. It shouldn’t be too much longer.

A thick furred grey and white cat lifted its head off of Emile’s bed as George entered her room, slowly blinking its large yellow eyes before yawning and turning away. George smiled at it before observing the space around him. She still had the same four poster bed with the metal branches. The window was slightly ajar in one corner of the room, next to an open owl cage. And everywhere George looked, there were pictures. Pictures from Hogwarts, pictures from her travels, pictures from Uagadoa, pictures with wild beasts, pictures of Lee.

George felt a lump rise in his throat as he looked over all the memories from school. Fred was in them, happy laughing Fred. And so was the now obvious romantic tension between him and Emile. A brush of the hand here, a wayward glance there, the spark in Emile’s eyes as she broke up a wrestling match between George and Fred, but her gaze rested only on him. She looked the same way in her most recent pictures. That familiar glimmer in her now hazel eyes as she looked at Lee.

Music from outside the room drew George’s attention towards the hallway. The kitchen was now empty, and a buttery smell filled the air. Fred and Roxanne were sitting together on a large bean bag chair as Emile placed a black box inside a larger silver box. Sitting down on a large leather sofa, she took out a silver rectangle and used it to illuminate the room with light from another large silver box.

Fred and Roxanne cheered as Emile put the small rectangle down and passed a large bowl of popcorn to Fred and Roxanne, who were staring at the glowing box. George moved behind his children, sitting cross legged on the floor behind them.

So this was a television…

George stared in fascination at the moving images that came from the box. It was showing a story from the muggle Bible, the story of Moses. But the television called it, “The Prince of Egypt”.

Emile sang along to the songs until Fred told her she couldn’t sing, and she acted very offended and left the room.

“Apowogyze,” Roxanne said to Fred, looking very much like her mother. 

Fred stood up when Emile came back in and gave her a hug, saying sorry. George stared at his son, the rebellious boy who wouldn’t even admit to tripping over his own feet. His son never apologized at home, yet he had no problem giving Emile a hug.

Emile was laughing and hugging him back, and with a wave of her hand she brought out three cups of hot chocolate.

“Marshmallows! Yes!” Fred cheered as Roxanne eagerly sipped her drink through a straw. “You’re the best, Auntie Em.”

Emile smiled, blushing slightly. “I certainly try to be, Fred.”

They continued observing the moving images, Fred objecting loudly as Moses left his home.

“The man was a prince, for Merlins sake!”

Emile smiled and shushed him. “Pay attention now.”

George stared at his old friend, wondering how someone could look so unchanged. She had the same green eyes, though after the battle flecks of brown had appeared in them. She still dressed the same way. She managed to continue pursuing her goals. He envied her. He admired her. And as much as he hated to admit it, he missed her. 

As yet another song began to play, Emile stood up and waltzed over to Fred and Roxanne, flouncing her pajamas around.

“A single thread in the tapestry though its color may brightly shine, can never see it purpose in the pattern of the grand design,” Emile sang, smiling at a gurgling Roxanne.

“And the stone that sits on the very top of the mountains mighty face, doesn’t think it’s more important than the stones that form the base.”

Fred looked at her searchingly as Emile stood up and flung her arms wide.

“So how can you see what your life is worth, or where your value lies? You can never see with the eyes of man,” Emile grinned down at the two. “You must look at your life, look at your life through heaven’s eyes.”

Roxanne giggled and clapped along with the music as Emile began to twirl, her red hair flying around her face as she pulled it out of its buns. Fred bounced up and down in his seat as his eyes darted from the television to his godmother. 

A shadow distracted George from the scene in front of him. Lee Jordan had entered the room and was watching Emile and the kids calmly, foot tapping along with the music as he hung his cloak onto a coat rack. As the second verse began he jumped over the sofa, picking Emile up in his arms and twirling her around. 

“Uncle Lee!” Fred called out as the cloak fell off of the figures face. George felt his throat tighten as he stared at his old best friends face. Neither Lee nor Emile seemed to have aged one bit, both in appearance and in character.

“Unklee, unklee,” Roxanne was lifting her hands in the air from the sofa as Emile resumed singing.

“And that’s why we share all we have with you, though there’s little to be found-”

“When all you’ve got is nothing, there’s a lot to go around,” Lee finished for her, earning a familiar eye roll from his long time girlfriend.

“No life can escape being blown about by the winds of change and chance,” they sang together as Fred stood up from the bean bag chair. “And though you never know all the steps, you must learn to join the dance.”

Lee grabbed Emile and twirled her as she laughed. She leaned over and pulled Fred towards them. 

“You must learn to join the dance!”

George watched, heart aching slightly as Emile twirled Fred around the room and Lee picked up Roxanne. The four of them looked like their own happy family.

As the final notes of the song filled the apartment, the doorbell rang.

“No, it’s too early,” Fred complained as Angelina entered the room, followed by a smiling Ginny. 

George stood up and made his way towards the front door, careful to avoid touching anyone. 

“Meet me by the lift,” he breathed into Ginny’s ear, surprised when his little sister gave a nod. She must be too used to the cloak by now to be surprised by whispers coming from nowhere.

“Well?” Ginny demanded as she took the cloak from her brother. “What do you have to say?”

George took a deep breath, his eyes closed. “You were right.”

“Alright, but I already knew that.”

George blinked at his younger sister. “I’m ready to forgive her, too.”

Ginny grinned at her older brother, giving him a nudge with her hand. “Go on then. I’ll help Angelina take the kids home.”

At the mention of her name, Angelina appeared next to them, Fred in tow and Roxanne in her arms. 

“Good luck,” Angelina smiled at her husband. “I’m so happy you’re doing this. I’m almost proud.”

George pecked her on the lips. “You shouldn’t be proud of me for spying on someone all night.”

“Is dad going to go to jail?” Fred stage whispered to Ginny, who snorted in laughter.

“Not yet, Freddy,” George grinned and ruffled his son’s hair.

“Darn,” Fred smirked up at his father.

“Alright that’s enough. We’ve got to go to bed and your father has an apology to make.” Angelina kissed her husband once more before entering the lift with Ginny, Fred, and Roxanne. The sleepy toddler waved to her father as the doors to the lift closed between them. 

George took a deep breath before walking back down the hall, fumbling with his robe pockets.

He knocked twice on the door before taking a step back.

“No, it is not a waste of money you arrogant-”

Emile broke off her retort to Lee as she stared at George, the sparkle in her eyes was replaced by a guarded look.

“Hi,” George looked at her with a feeble smile.

“Hello,” Emile looked up at him, keeping the door slightly open, but not inviting him in.

Lee stepped into the hallway for a moment, but upon seeing the scene in front of him walked back into the kitchen.

George cleared his throat. “I um, I wanted to give something back to you.”

He reached down into one of his coat pockets, struggling to remove the somewhat large object from inside. After a moment of struggle, he held out a faded paperback book.

Emile took it hesitantly, a small smile breaking across her face. “A Game of Thrones.”

“I’ve been reading it a lot, recently,” George attempted to start a sentence, but faltered when she continued staring at the book.

“I can’t believe you kept it,” she said softly.

“Of course I did,” George responded quietly.

After a moment of silence, Emile cleared her throat. “You do know there’s two more books, right?”

“No.”

“Yes.”

George grinned down at her. “Any chance I could borrow them?”

Emile couldn’t help but laugh. “Will I get them back sooner than seven years from now?”

“No promises.”

Emile grinned up at him, opening the door wider. “I suppose you’d better get in here.”

“I suppose I should, but I need to say something before I do.”

“What would this something be?”

“I forgive you, too.”


	101. Epilogue

“If Ron could have a rat, why can’t I have a pig?”

“I told you, Hogwarts doesn’t allow pigs at school.”

“But you could transfigure him to look like a cat!”

“What, and get arrested for performing magic on animals?”

Lee stuck his head into the kitchen. “Kia, are you trying to get your mother arrested?”

Kiara looked up at her dad with a face of angelic innocence. “Of course not, father.”

Emile smirked at her daughter and ruffled her hair with one hand.

“Mom, you’re moving around my headband,” Kiara complained before she jumped down from the kitchen counter where she had been preparing a sack lunch to take on the Hogwarts Express. 

Emile smiled as she watched her headstrong daughter waltz out of the kitchen to the bathroom, standing up on a stool as the fixed her red headband over her poofy black hair.

“Kia, I need the stool!”

Kiara jumped off the stool as her twin brother Rory ran into the brother and reached over the sink, grabbing his toothbrush and toothpaste.

“Morning dear,” Lee grinned as he walked into the kitchen in his work robes.

“Are you off to work already?” Emile frowned as Lee pecked her on the cheek, reaching around her to get his coffee from the coffee maker.

“Course not,” he responded with a smile, his eyes making their way to the bathroom where the twins were getting ready for the day. “I’ve got a meeting at 11:10, so I’ve got to apparate there as soon as the train leaves.”

“Dads going to meet with Uncle George for lunch, but he told me not to tell you,” Kiara trilled as she skipped back into the kitchen, Waddles in tow.

Lee smiled at his daughter as she leaped back onto the counter and continued making her sandwich before turning back to where his son was brushing his teeth.

“Hey Rory, don’t you want to eat some breakfast before brushing your teeth?”

“No time dad,” Rory mumbled around his toothbrush. “It’s already 9:30.”

Lee rolled his eyes down to Emile, who nudged him back in turn. Twelve years of marriage hadn’t changed the way the behaved towards each other. Angelina often lectured them about setting better examples for their kids. She was one to talk. George quite enjoyed getting on his wife’s nerves and the two of them often argued like children themselves.

It had been Angelina’s idea to let the children name themselves once they turned ten. She was a responsible godmother, who had gotten tired of Emile and Lee arguing over the child’s name. What a surprise they had had when they ended up with twins. The children, who had until recently been referred to as Jaylin and Jordan, had named themselves after three consecutive days spent pouring over books in the library. Kiara had very much wanted to be named Mabel, to go with her pet pig from Great-Uncle Diggory, but Emile had put her foot down. Rory naming himself after his favorite Doctor Who companion was fine, as long as he didn’t marry a ginger. Emile wasn’t sure how she felt about Rory marrying a Weasley.

The family of four lived in the same apartment building that Lee had been living in since he had moved out of his parents house. Lee and Emile shared the bedroom that had once been solely Emile’s, while the twins had Lee’s old bedroom. Both had loft beds and free reign to decorate their half of the room as they wished. Kiara’s half was covered in posters and stickers while Rory’s was covered with books and graphs.

Emile lost the fight when it came to Waddle’s and, knowing that Professor McGonagall would be sending her a letter, begrudgingly allowed Mabel to take the pig to Hogwarts. So as Mabel rushed to cram Waddle’s supplies into her trunk, Emile helped Rory take his trunk down to the car.

She had finally claimed the battered yellow Volkswagen Bug from Uncle Amos. It was impossible to do anything in London without a car these days, so Emile had become the family’s designated driver. Lee often jokingly referred to her as a modern “Soccer Mom,” but stopped once Emile brake checked so suddenly that she ended up taking him to St. Mungo’s.

“You do know Hogwarts has a library, right Rory?” Emile huffed as she hauled the heavy trunk into the back of the car.

“But does it have muggle books?” Rory asked worriedly, blinking up at his mother.

Emile smiled down at her son, thinking about how he would be soon outgrowing her. “I don’t know. I haven’t been there in a long time.”

“Right, you’re old,” Rory said with a nod as Emile stared at him, jaw dropped.

“Rory!” 

Kiara’s shout saved her brother from a severe scolding, as she ran towards the car with Waddle’s in tow, two sack lunches in her hands. Lee appeared a moment later, huffing as he carried Kiara’s school trunk to the car.

“I do believe they might have overpacked,” Emile’s husband stated once the two of them shut the car trunk.

“It’ll get easier,” Emile promised him with a kiss on the cheek.

“When?”

“When they get old enough to carry down their own trunks without hurting themselves.”

Lee grinned at his wife as they climbed into the front of the car, watching as she secured her seatbelt and started the car. Parenthood had taken a toll on both of them. Emile hadn’t had such deep circles under her eyes since the few years leading up to the Battle of Hogwarts. Since Bartemius had been part of her. And here she was, nineteen years later. Driving their children to Kings Cross Station to see them off to their first year at Hogwarts.

“What are you thinking about?” Emile asked as they made their way onto the street.

“You,” Lee responded, unashamed.

“You better be thinking good things about me, Lee Jordan-Gorski,” Emile said with a smile, not taking her eyes off the road.

“I always think good things about you,” Lee said with a smile, giving her a peck on the cheek.

“Oh gag!”

“Gross, dad.”

Emile and Lee laughed as they pulled up outside Kings Cross.

“I don’t understand why we even take the car,” Rory complained as they took out the kids trunks and loaded them onto the trolley’s.

“Look at it this way,” Kiara said as she helped Waddles onto her trolley. “We could either drive for five minutes with our trunks in the trunk, or we could walk for thirty carrying them.”

Rory grumbled, as he usually did when his sister proved a point. Emile and Lee shared a grin as Lee brought over two trolleys for the twins to use, helping Kiara with her trunk while Emile helped Rory with his.

Side by side, they pushed the trolley’s forward, gathering speed as they sped through the stations, the twins sitting on top of their trunks and trolleys. The family emerged, breathless, onto platform nine and three-quarters, which was obscured by thick white steam which was pouring from the scarlet Hogwarts Express. Indistinct figures were swarming through the mist, which fogged up Emile’s glasses. She felt an incredible sense of deja vu as she cleaned her glasses in an attempt to see. 

“Where are they?” Rory asked as they looked around the platform nervously.

“There!”

Kiara ran ahead of the group, flinging her arms around George’s leg. Rory followed a bit slower, strutting up next to Angelina and her daughter.

“H-hey Roxanne.”

“Jaylin!” Roxanne grinned down at the first year. “No, I’m sorry. You prefer Rory now. How insensitive of me.”

Rory let out a strained laugh. “Oh no, it’s no problem. Not at all.”

Angelina grinned at Emile as she walked up, pushing her daughters trolley in front of her. It was no secret that Emile’s son had a thing for Angelina’s fourth year daughter.

“Where’s Fred?” Emile asked once she’d given George and Angelina hugs.

“Oh, he ran off to his girlfriend,” Roxanne responded flippantly before her mother had a chance to open her mouth. “Why, did you want to give him something?”

“Is it wrong for a godmother to want to see her godson?” Emile asked with a wink at Roxanne.

“Actually, I don’t know what’s gotten into Fred lately,” George commented as Rory and Kiara began to pester Roxanne with questions about Hogwarts. “He’s almost of age, I thought he’d try to do a lot more magic outside of school this summer. The house has been disturbingly quiet.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Lee said with a sincere expression on his face. 

It took all of Emile’s willpower not to burst out laughing. Only Lee and herself knew that Fred’s wand had snapped when he had attempted to twirl it between his fingers to show off for Rory and Kiara. Fred had been terrified of what his parents would say, and had begged Emile to fix the wand for him. Again. 

“It’s 10:50,” Roxanne announced, swooping down to kiss her parents goodbye. She winked at Emile when the older woman slipped her her brothers wand into her robe sleeve. 

Turning to her children, Emile drew the twins in for a hug.

“Don’t get into trouble,” she grinned as she let them go. “Try not to befriend Albus or Scorpius, The Potter and Malfoy gene’s are going to be trouble magnets.”

“Mom are you sure you aren’t a seer?” Rory asked with a smile.

Emile laughed before kissing her children on the foreheads one last time. “Not all of me. We’ll be expecting a letter from each of you tonight. And one from McGonagall about Waddle’s.”

“Come on you two, the trains about to leave,” Roxanne beckoned the twins towards her as the dragged their trunks towards the scarlet train carriages. “You can sit with some of my friends on the way there, but I’ll warn you, they can be a bit intense…”

As Rory and Kiara struggled to get their trunks onto the train, Emile lifted her hand and waved it through the air almost lazily. Kiara and Rory jumped as their phones were summoned from their pockets into their mother’s hands, leaving Roxanne laughing.

“You do know those things break on Hogwarts grounds, right?”

Angelina grinned as she heard her daughters snarky comeback.

“Roxanne is a brilliant Gryffindor,” Emile grinned as Lee put his arm around her, grabbing the kids phones out of her hands and securing them in his pocket.

Angelina smiled and leaned over to Emile’s ear. 

“Our husbands are meeting up for lunch again,” she whispered in her ear.

“I know,” Emile mouthed back.

The two exchanged bemused looks as the train began to move. They were very much aware that their husbands were planning something, as much as the two men denied it. 

Together, the four parents stood and waved to their children, who were smiling from one of the compartment windows. Waddles had his pink face pressed against the glass as the train moved past them.

“Look at Harry,” George said with a smile.

Harry Potter was walking alongside the train, watching his son through his compartment window, until the platform ended.

“He worries too much,” Emile said with a shake of her head.

“I would too, if I was a Potter,” George grinned down at her.

“Your sister's a Potter,” Angelina reminded her husband gently, nodding to where Ginny and Hermione were standing, young Lily Potter clinging to Ron’s leg a few feet away.

The last trace of steam soon evaporated in the autumn air. The train rounded the corner of the track. The only thing left was the steam slowly evaporating into the air and the echo of the distant whistle 

“Well, I’d better get to work,” Lee turned and kissed his wife on the lips. “Wow, it’s nice to finally be able to do that without someone telling me how gross it is.”

Emile and Angelina laughed as Lee disapparated.

“I ought to go too,” George said, pecking his own wife on the lips before turning to Emile. “Is there any more news?”

Emile grinned. “The next season isn’t out till April.”

George swore under his breath before bidding Emile good day and disapparating. 

“What was that all about?” Angelina said with a confused grin on her face.

Emile grinned at her friend. “I may have introduced your husband to the Game of Thrones television series while you took Roxanne and Fred to France.”

“Oh, so that’s why he spent so much time at your place,” Angelina let out a sigh of relief. “I was beginning to get worried.”

“Hey, you can trust me,” Emile bumped her shoulder with Angelina’s. “Besides, Lee was there with us the whole time.”

Emile drove the car back to the apartment before disapparating to Diagon Alley. It was a relief to enter the familiar two story shop, carefully organized and stocked, remarkably unchanged over the years. Well, except for the emptiness on the shelves that school season always brought along.

“You took your time,” came a remark from the wall.

“It’s Rory and Kia’s first day at Hogwarts,” Emile replied as she walked past the painting of Ollivander. He often checked up on his shop to make sure she was keeping it well organized. When he wasn’t here he was observing his grandkids from his portrait at his son’s house, his old house.

“They’ll be fine,” Ollivander wheezed. “They’ve got some of my wands to protect themselves with.”

“You mean, my wands,” Emile shot back with a grin. “I made them.”

“It’s my shop, you sell them under my name.”

Emile rolled her eyes and headed towards the back of the store, grabbing the broom and dustpan. After all these years she still started the day cleaning the store.

Not many customers came in that day. The wand buying season was over. There was nothing to do now but wait for Christmas, when parents would grow worried over nicks and chips in perfectly fine wands and ask for repairs or replacements.

Emile wasn’t worried about her children’s wands getting damaged. They knew the basics of wand repair after watching her work for so long. And they had fantastic wands, both ten and a quarter inch, thick, hazel wands. Kiara’s wand had a Unicorn Hair core while Rory received one of the special Fwooper and Hippogriff feather cores.

“We could go on a trip now,” Emile grinned up at her husband later that evening. “I need more unicorn hair. Charlie might have some more heartstring for me. Maybe we could visit Africa.”

Lee smiled down at her but shook his head. “I don’t have many vacation days as an Unspeakable. I was hoping to save up until Kia and Rory graduate, and then we can all go on a large family vacation.”

“But that’s over seven years from now!” Emile objected, sitting up and crossing her arms.

Emile and Lee were in their living room, watching television and enjoying the peace in the nearly silent household. Lee was attempting to respond as two owls landed outside their windows, a great gray and Rory’s Barn Owl, William. Lee ran over at took the letters from them, William nipping his ear affectionately before flying back off into the night.

“One’s from McGonagall,” Lee sang as he hand Emile two scrolls.

“And the other?”

“From the kids.”

Both McGonagall’s letter and the talk of vacations were quickly forgotten as Emile and Lee unrolled the other scroll.

 

_ Dear Mom and Dad, _

_ You said that food here was good, but wow! It’s even better than Grandma Molly’s cooking! And that woman can cook. And knit. You think that she could teach me how to knit over the summer? I know she tried last year but it didn’t work out very well. _

_ Are there really house elves doing all the cleaning and cooking here? Because Waddles found one the moment we found our room. I think it might have gone to McGonagall, so you’ll probably be getting a letter from her too. _

_ I almost forgot, I’m in Hufflepuff! The common room is really nice, I think it would have really appealed to moms aesthetic. Uncle Neville is my Head of House. He fills the common room with all sort of weird plants that smell lovely, and a few that cover you in awful smelling gunk. One of the prefects said that there’s a plant that crows like a rooster to wake everyone up in the morning. _

_ Rory’s in Ravenclaw. He got sorted after me. He seemed a bit disappointed that we weren’t together, but I talked to him after dinner and he said it would be fine since we still have a bunch of classes together. You guys should still send him a letter, you know how he gets. _

_ Albus Potter was sorted into Slytherin, and didn’t seem to happy about it. It looked like he was friends with Scorpius Malfoy. Did you hear about how he might be You-Know-Who’s son? That’s crazy, what stork would ever bring a baby to a man without a nose? He wouldn’t know when to change the diapers! _

_ Anyways, it’s late. And I’ve got to finish unpacking Waddles basket. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. Our school years will definitely be a lot more normal than your guyses. Albus doesn’t seem like the troublemaking type. _

_ See you at Christmas! _

_ Kiara Jaylin Jordan-Gorska _


	102. Tributes

Dumi Sabins continued teaching at Ugadao for the remainder of his life. He married the beautiful female who came to teach wandlore after Emile returned Britain. After thirty years his wife became headmistress of the school. He took part in creating the WWWW, and was the one to suggest a required password in order to access the WWWW. Both he and his wife retired in their later 80’s and moved to the Bahamas, where they spent the rest of their days happy and tan.

 

Ari and Branwen got married on the very same day as George and Angelina. Alex served as the best man, and Sarah turned up to be the Maid of Honor. Branwen moved in with Ari after their wedding, and the two of them lived in New York for seven years before moving out to California with their two year old daughter. There they spent the remainder of their lives with their four children and six cats. After retiring they bought a small yacht and traveled all the way around South America with the two cats their children hadn’t taken after moving out.

 

Dr. Gwendoline Kaizer and Doctor Tichaona Sabins got married after Doctor Tichaona moved out to Johannesburg to be closer to his son. He attended Ari and Branwens wedding as Dr. Gwen’s fiance, surprising everyone after several drinks with his breakdancing skills. The two of them created one of the first WWWW websites; a blog about their travels including many useful how-to’s regarding medical procedures and care of rare Magical Creatures. Their work was eventually published in book form and used as a textbook for second years in Ugadao. 

 

Alex Harbaugh took over his parents law firm once they retired in their late sixties and moved to Florida with the family cat. He took a liking to Sarah at his friend Ari’s wedding, and not long after the two became a couple. After being married for five years the two divorced, and though Alex dated many women he didn’t marry again.

 

Darren Williams helped out on the Diggory property until the untimely death of Mrs. Diggory. Soon after, Mr. Diggory went to live in a nursing home and sold the property to a rich aristocrat who turned it into one of Britain's finest hotels. Darren remained there as stable boy since the horses attracted a lot of the guests attention. He would often take Emile and her family camping deep in the woods, where they spent many nights in a sturdy old treehouse. After caring for the horses and leading day long treks on horseback for many years, Darren retired altogether. He spent the rest of his days traveling the world with his very, very close friend, Oliver Wood.

 

Kiara Jaylin Jordan-Gorska spent seven years at Hogwarts befriending everyone and everything. Like the rest of her family, she managed to create a brilliant desert themed patronus, hers being a tiny Elf Owl. Much loved by the teachers, she went on to become Head of the Department of International Cooperation for ten years running, before returning to Hogwarts to teach Charms for seven years as well as Head Hufflepuff House alongside her Uncle, Neville. Afterwards she became Headmistress of Hogwarts and remained so until her untimely death from Dragonpox at the age of sixty-two. Almost as loved as Albus Dumbledore, her most noteworthy accomplishment as Headmistress was the integration of electronics onto the Hogwarts school grounds and curriculum. Along with Headmasters and Headmistresses from all over the globe, she partook in creating the WWWW (Wizarding World Wide Web [which can be unlocked by typing in the password ‘Al0ham0ra’]). She now has her own Chocolate Frog card, an accomplishment which she held in the highest esteem.

 

Waddles Jordan-Gorski lived to the unusual age of fifteen years, though it was later discovered that in their second year at Hogwarts one of Mabel’s roommates accidentally spilt a potion on the pig that prevented him from aging for a majority of the twins school years. He passed away in his sleep, and was turned into a tree by request of Kiara. She took care of the tree until her death, when it was buried at the head of her grave on Hogwarts grounds.

 

Rory Jayden Jordan-Gorski did not end up with Roxanne Weasley. Though he pursued her throughout their briefly spent joint time at Hogwarts, Roxanne kindly turned him down, even setting him up with his first girlfriend. Continuing the family tradition of desert themed patronus’s, Rory managed to create a brilliantly silver African Wild Dog that got him an O on his Defense Against the Dark Arts NEWT. After graduating, Dipper took a year off to travel the world, spending half a year in California where he had an internship with the Google Company. It was thanks to his international connections and expertise in muggle technology that his sister was later able to create the WWWW. After it’s inception he remained the man in charge of the operation, expanding the project to involve wizarding websites, and eventually a Wizard Google. Dipper married an old friend of Mabel’s who had moved to America after graduation, but moved back later to help out with the WWWW. They had a son who grew up to take over the wand shop after his grandmother passed away.

 

Lee Jordan-Gorski eventually did get a fancy ministry job like his parents dreamed. He worked as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries until his death, often coming home with unexplainable cuts and bruises that he could not discuss. Though he fully supported the WWWW project, Lee’s job as an Unspeakable kept him from contributing. His feelings of bitterness towards it grew for a while before finally ending with a brutal argument with his wife. After apologizing quite sincerely, Lee and Emile took a three month vacation on a cruise to Alaska, making a pit stop in Seattle to meet with an old wandmaker on her deathbed. Lee died at the age of eighty seven, and was buried with a battered hazel wand that he never used, but hadn’t left his side for sixty nine years.

 

Emile Victoria Gorska remained a wand maker and head of Ollivanders shop for the rest of her life. She often helped her children during their struggle to create the WWWW, using her husbands position in the ministry as leverage to convince Hermione Granger, Minister of Magic, that creating the WWWW would benefit the entire wizarding community. She had no other children besides the twins, and often lectured Lee about how painful childbirth actually was whenever he brought up the subject of children. Once her grandson approached her about his interest in wandlore, Emile focused all of her energy into training him in a way similar to the way Mr. Ollivander trained her. Emile passed away three months and twenty two days after Lee, somewhat anxious to meet several long awaited friends. The scar on her neck hadn’t hurt since the Battle of Hogwarts.


End file.
